


Undertow

by toezofasupermodel



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28057200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toezofasupermodel/pseuds/toezofasupermodel
Summary: Picks up after Sonata.  A series of attacks in cities around the world have Josef on alert.  Meanwhile, Mick and Beth try to move forward with their relationship with unexpected results.  Ben Talbot has the list and the eye of a vampire hunter.  What will he do, and how will it change things for everyone?
Relationships: Mick St. John/Beth Turner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

** Undertow **

**_ Prologue: One day before… _ **

The woman sat crankily inside one of LAX’s international waiting areas examining the shapeless dress that erased her waist and legs. Terrible was the frock’s print and its fabric synthetic. In all her years, the vampiress had never looked so off-the-rack ugly. No sparkly bling or Jimmy Choos—just fake jewelry and canvas slip-ons. 

It was awful indeed…but working like a charm. The lady and her wide lens sunglasses went unnoticed. Her usual attire, formal and expensive, always drew long stares. Exotic features of pale peach skin, high cheekbones and rosy lips were similarly curtained by a platinum wig. She looked the part of an ordinary human—horrible in other words.

But not for much longer. Around the passenger exit a crowd had swelled, a telling sign that the next flight’s patrons would be coming through. A digital screen above confirmed that Air France 521 from Paris had touched down. In a few moments, travelers would spill and scurry through this lobby. 

And Angus McCullough would be among them.

Big, brown eyes moving about the room, the woman scanned for his lackeys, as she had several times since coming. The call to intercept this hunter and any others had reached her hours ago. Her brothers were also searching the airport for anyone of interest. The huntsman’s people stood out, intimidating most with their short buzz cuts, black fatigues and silver spiked jackboots. To her, the look was helpful. Sore thumbs against the rest, McCullough’s men were easy to pick out and pick off.

The captain, on the other hand, changed his appearance often. They’d never met, but she’d been briefed at length. With his face burned into her memory, she could confidently see through any disguise. Paris to Los Angeles, the flight had been a red-eye. McCullough would be groggy and jet-lagged. She’d catch him easily and end it.

For whatever reason, there was a delay. The lady sat with rocketing impatience for another forty minutes before the passenger exit exploded outward and emptied its contents. By that time, she was more than in the mood to rip someone to pieces.


	2. Chapter 2

“All that matters is how we feel about each other,” Mick told Beth in the cozy space of her apartment foyer before the pull of attraction was too much. They melted together, their connection full of urgent kisses. “I love you, Beth,” he said afterward.

“I love you too,” she replied. “Make love to me, Mick.”

He sighed. “It’s too dangerous for—"

“Us to have sex?” she finished. “I’ve heard that, and you know how I feel. Josef seems to do just fine.” 

“He’s had a lot of practice,” said Mick. “At picking partners that mean nothing. That’s what it takes. I haven’t. It’s your life we’d be gambling with. The most precious thing to me. I’ve got a right to be cautious.”

“I’ll be fine,” Beth assured. She’d never be afraid of Mick. He was the best man she’d ever met—better than any human. “This is my choice, and I trust you. If practice is what you need,” her baby blues beckoned, “then practice with me.” She handcuffed his wrist with her fingers and tugged him forward.

Mick stopped her mid-stride, shaking his head. “It’s not the act. It’s what I’ll become.”

“Your vamp face? I’ve seen it. I didn’t run screaming.”

Mick smiled wanly. “You’re amazing. But I change. My nature comes out. I-I bite—hard.” He couldn’t risk hurting her. “I haven’t had sex with a human for a long time. I don’t think I can hold back,” he confessed sheepishly.

“I’ve been bitten before, remember. I’m okay with it,” reminded Beth of their shared experience in a run-down hotel.

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the same. I was weak, barely able to latch on to your wrist, and too sick to recognize reality from hallucinations. I’m fine now…and very strong. I could hurt you and not even realize.”

“So, you’re afraid to bite me…but you had no problem with Simone.” Beth frowned. Seeing Mick feeding on Josef’s friend still stung.

“I didn’t love her. I tried to explain,” answered Mick. “It’s easier when there’s no attachment. I only wanted a taste,” at Beth’s hot glare he added, “for the investigation. Sex is different. It’s about possession. We can forget and take too much.”

“What if _I_ gave you a little taste? Satisfied that part of you.” Beth brushed her mouth to his cheek. “I don’t mind,” she cooed. It broke his stubborn stance, enough for her to move them a few paces. 

Mick groaned as he trod down this path, wanting Beth so badly. Every dream had been a replay of their time in the desert. At her wicked grin, his defenses toppled. When she nibbled his earlobe, he shuddered at the pleasure and agreed to be led.

Inside the bedroom, Mick shut the door roughly, placing Beth on the frilly bedcover and indulging in feathery touches along her silky skin. With a seductive smile, she pulled back her hair and tilted her head in invitation.

He sprang back abruptly, his backside hitting the footboard.

“N-Not there. It’s been too long,” he gasped. A scorching hunger raged. He pushed it down. He wouldn’t be a ghoul in front of this beauty.

“It’s okay. Whatever you want.”

Tentatively, Mick held his hand out and smiled when she laced her tiny fingers in his. He turned her palm up with a delicate gesture, then, eyes shifting to icy white, traced the path of veins past an elbow with his tongue.

“Oh,” Beth muttered, reveling in his attention.

With a soft snarl, he lowered his head and eased his fangs into her wrist, drawing to its beat.

“Oh!” Beth jumped first at the pricks of pain, not unlike past donations to the Red Cross, but then lolled her head as a sweet heat buzzed soon after. Incredibly, his satisfaction began to flow back to her in sublime, warm waves. 

It was better than the first time, better than anything she’d felt before.

She rode the heavenly pulses, forgetting about the desert, the Red Cross—and everything else for that matter.

*********

Ben Talbot sat at his desk tapping a pencil. No matter how many months he’d been here it still felt uncomfortable. This job had been a lateral shift. Working with a crack lawyer like the current L.A. district attorney was an opportunity he couldn't refuse. 

Last year, at a conference, the two men had become fast friends with their similar takes on the judiciary system. Then this position had suddenly come up, and Ben had moved to Tinseltown, leaving a clingy ex-girlfriend behind. Packing the Jeep with a couple of boxes and his golden retriever had refreshed him.

The job itself, however, was more difficult than anticipated. Los Angeles oozed crime, and Ben’s workload quickly tripled. Replacing an admired man like assistant DA Joshua Lindsay added to his stress. The staff missed the way things used to be and were not enthused with a newcomer. 

Ben’s chair never felt right. No matter how many adjustments, it was a dead man’s seat, impossible to fill. He could only hope things would change as he proved to be an asset. So, he did everything by the book. Good work could only lead to good things. 

He was deep in thought when the phone rang. Picking up the handset, he said, “Hello?”

“It’s ten o'clock. You’re a machine, Talbot,” a male voice chuckled. “Did you enjoy the stuff I sent?”

Ben frowned. “Who _is_ this?” he grunted.

“The list and photos are all that’s important.”

“Listen.” Ben grabbed the dossier he’d made out of last week’s mystery mail as well as a file on private eye Mick St. John, fanning out the contents of both. “You’ve called _five times_ with cryptic messages. Enough already! I’ve heard the cloak and dagger routine. Pick a new script and another person to sell it to.”

“You wouldn’t believe the truth. But soon, you will.”

“Holding my breath,” replied Talbot. _Wacko_ , he thought. The city was crawling with screwballs. And it wasn’t just the celebs. Two weeks ago, someone had reported seeing a pair of white-eyed demons attack a photog behind a bistro. Interestingly, a pap’s body was found near the Arbour restaurant, but an investigation came up with nothing to link it to any Hell minions. 

“You didn’t recognize _anybody_?”

“Nope. And see a doc for those hand tremors. My dog could take clearer pictures,” dodged Ben. He wasn’t about to throw this guy a bone. The images were, in fact, good enough to identify Mick St. John. In one, the P.I. had been hit by a car. In the next, he’d walked away unscathed. Close by was Beth Turner, Ben’s newest employee. As for the list, St. John’s name was there too.

It was bizarre. 

Ben sighed. “That list—nothing rings a bell. Dial it back, Agent 99...and tell me what I’m seeing.”

“Not even Vlad Tepes?”

“Vlad, Vlad,” Ben said thoughtfully. “Nope. My cabbie today was Vern.”

“Tepes was a monster, more fiend than man.”

“Not my cabby then.”

The caller snickered. “Unlikely, but not impossible.”

Ben shook his head, palming his forehead. “Right. Monsters are among us. I’ve met a few as an attorney but nothing supernatural.”

“Tepes was a fifteenth-century prince. Drank human blood and hung bodies along the path to his castle.”

“Curb appeal? What does it have to do with anything?”

Laughter rolled. “I like you. Do you know what the common name is for Tepes?”

“No more horror history, I _beg_ you.”

Another chuckle. “The other name for the Blood Prince was—Dracula.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’re into goth. And lucky me, I’ve got your role-play roster on my desk. Ugh. March your Doc Marten’s back to mom’s basement cause my fantasy league is full—with goblin dentists and unicorn mail carriers.”

“Vampires are real.”

“Kicked off the Isle of Misfits, huh? Seek a tribe elsewhere.” 

“Take another look at what I gave y—"

“You need a kind of help I can’t provide.” Talbot shut off the phone.

*****

What a load it was that vampires were indestructible. Bubble baths and Josef went together like beauties and blood—but not in hot tubs. Like all of his kind, he was extremely sensitive to high temperatures. When the thermometer rose, his core temperature shot up in tandem. Prolonged heat exposure produced a fever that could be fatal.

So, why risk it? Tonight, his frothy soak was frigid. None of his gaggle of gals wished to join him though, but they lounged on the edge of the wide marble tub, keeping him company. 

Taking a slow and superb nip from Valentina, he closed his bleach pale eyes. Other Freshies shot her jealous looks with pouty lips. “Hand me a towel, Amber,” said Josef afterward, rising. “I’ll need it…eventually.” 

The group twittered while she skipped off. The giggly mood was not long-lasting, as a knock at the door silenced the room. 

“Yeah,” Josef answered, reluctantly wrapping himself in cotton linens from the arms of his current redhead. 

The door opened a crack and honeyed-tones spoke up. “Mister Kostan, sorry to interrupt. There’s a call on line two. Says he’s a ‘relative’. Should I take a message?”

“It’s fine, Zahra. I’ll take it in here,” he answered, giving his harem a ‘we-are-so-not-finished’ look and swiped a cordless from the wall. ‘Relative’ was the word for a vampire with business to attend to. “Kostan here. Speak!”

“Charming,” answered a gravelly voice. “It’s Sylvain. I have orders from the council.”

“Dandy,” Josef answered flatly.

Sylvain Du Vall was a Parisian blueblood who’d been turned in his twilight years. Crabby as he was flabby, Du Vall was a staunchly traditional councilman. This call promised to be long and dry. The usual amendments to the code always were. “Beware, the silverware at the Four Seasons is _actual_ silver. Figured that one out myself. But I’d be happy to take you.”

“Must you be an eternal smart-ass?”

Josef shrugged his shoulders. “Eternal tight-ass is taken.”

The old vamp did not answer. 

“Come on, Sylvie,” said Josef. “You know I love you and _all_ the warm and fuzzy Du Valls. Sir Lan-ce-rot especially, with that killer eye. So zombie chic.”

“Your lack of respect is appalling!”

“I mean that with respect. Zombies are the new pink. Gold stars to your son for starting a trend.”

“Cut the jokes! I don’t relish speaking to an _imbecile_ , but you’re the leader of Los Angeles! Why our council head would make such a blunder, I’ve no idea!” barked Sylvain, then he cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss serious matters.”

“Listening,” Josef uttered sweetly.

A growl rumbled. “You test me! _My_ choice would’ve been your head and better people in your shoes! But my opinion is irrelevant. There’s been a series of attacks. An arsonist hit Amsterdam three weeks ago. We considered it an isolated event, then a safe house in Budapest was burned to the ground. Two days ago, some of our Hamburg residents narrowly missed a firebomb.”

“Hunters cleaning up the old country,” replied Josef. It happened once in a while that a group of vigilantes grew in numbers and gathered force. The last time had been a hundred twenty-seven years ago, causing a massive death toll. Kostan rubbed the torch scar on his thigh absently. 

With a finger jab toward the door, he shooed his women away. Some topics were not Freshie-friendly. “You guys make it easy the way you stick together,” he chastised. Euro vamps clung to the old ways, congregating by bloodline. _Ducks in a barrel_ , Josef concluded.

“It would appear. There’ve been no reports around the US, but a well-known hunter, Angus McCullough, was spotted at _de Gaule_ boarding a flight to Los Angeles yesterday. Marceline was sent to intercept him, but he managed to escape.” Du Vall huffed. “We advise you to keep an eye out. And keep our people informed, offer help if necessary.”

“Our people? We’re _real_ cousins now? One big family with fourteen-wheeler-loads of dysfunction. I smell a reality show. Can I shop the content license?” 

“In this era of humans against us, we must ban together.”

“Whatevs. You want your grandkids over here safe, even though they’ve never acknowledged me as the city leader. No congratulations, no fruit basket.” Like Sylvain, they thought he was wrong for the job. He couldn’t agree more. But refusing this position hadn’t been an option. “You don’t trust ‘Celine the She-Devil’ to do it.”

“I have every confidence in my granddaughter. She can take care of herself and her brothers just fine,” said Du Vall. “Your resources would help with McCullough's capture, naturally.”

“The Cleaners would help,” stated Josef. The all-female janitorial crew went about their business in shadow, upholding the code. Celine wouldn’t be able to count on them. They only took orders from him. 

“Marceline could use their assistance—and the Council approves. So, it suits everyone.” 

“Not me,” Josef shot back. If ever there was a woman he wanted nothing to do with, it was that harpy Celine.

“Stop the silliness, Kostan! Our kin are at risk. The council has decreed what your duty will be, and that of your Cleaning crew.”

“Do I get anything in return? A doe-eyed virgin in white?” he bargained. “Before you say times have changed, _I_ haven’t.” Switching gears, Josef tried a taunt of a different kind. “Perhaps, a bit of that cure you’ve been hiding? I’m sure the council would be happy to know about it. I could make some calls?”

“Don’t threaten me! I know how you’ve grown to like Coraline’s _mistake_. Our agreement about him is not stone set.”

“A smidge of the cure. You won’t miss it.”

“For St. John’s sake, you won’t talk. One whisper of the salve to anyone and there won’t be a place that detective can hide from me! Our pact will be over!” yelled Du Vall, adding, “Have you told him of the arrangement? I bet _that_ went over well. Is that why you’re _begging_ me for the cure? To give it to your friend and get back in his good graces?”

“Hardly. You’re no more fun than usual. I’ll help,” Josef sighed, making sure to tag on, “for the council.”

“Good night,” the elder barked before he hung up.

Alone, Josef snarled at his sucky predicament…mothering the L.A. flock.

*****

“Talbot.”

“Y _ou_. I had a feeling,” moaned Ben, grasping the phone tightly in anger. Not even twenty minutes had passed. “Same idiot, different number. Seems you’re doing a tour of payphones. Before you ask, no, I _didn’t_ miss your kind of crazy.” He rubbed his temples where a headache jackhammered.

“I decided to share another tidbit.”

“More blood drinking?” Ben said weakly. 

“Indeed,” the man chirped. “And answers before you do something stupid. Can’t have you digging up coffins now--bad for business.”

“And here I shined my shovel.”

“I still like you, Ben. Fact is, I’ve been watching to see if you were right for us…ever since that journalist didn’t work out. I like the way you drool over her. She hasn’t got a clue!”

“Find a hospital, make friends with the staff,” snarled Ben. He wouldn’t dignify this dimwit with another minute of his time. “Put a stake in it, Van Helsing. Goodbye.”

“Stop! I know you've been lying!” shrieked the caller. “You know exactly who’s in those prints! St. John’s been at Beth Turner’s all night, my friend. He’s a killer! Tore Dean Foster apart—the guy who took those pics!”

“It was an animal,” Ben corrected. Foster was the pap who’d been found dead, but no demons or P.I.’s had taken him out. It was a wild dog or a pack of them by the teeth marks, the coroner had determined.

“Exactly. Open your top left-hand drawer.”

Ben heaved a great sigh…and complied, pulling out a sleek 8mm he hadn’t placed there. “What the hell?” he said aloud, his eyes wide. _Shit, Beth’s got a nutjob on her tail!_

“Packed with silver. Can’t sit back and let your girl die, can you? Aim for the heart.”

The line cut off, leaving Talbot with a shiny pistol and a gut full of dread.


	3. Chapter 3

“Damn it!” Josef cursed after receiving a message from Mick’s cell, surmising he was at Beth’s recovering from the night’s events. The way that couple was getting closer, there might be a turning/wedding on the horizon. Then again, knowing Mick, it would never happen…not after the horrendous time with his ex-wife. 

Los Angeles, 1957

Josef watched the newcomer from yards away. The kid twining elbows with Coraline was a newbie. Milling nearby were some of the oldest vamps, reeking of sandalwood perfume and underlying decay. This fledgling gave off no such scent. He didn’t wade much in wealthy circles either. The youngster’s saucer-wide hazel eyes examined the surroundings with awe, his dark-haired head jerking from one item to the next. 

Josef was beyond pleased, for he’d overseen every part of his mega-mansion. The floors were a complex parquet pattern that stretched in frenzied angles. Crimson chandeliers of artisan-cut crystals hung from a dome ceiling like glistening drops, sending gory smears across the wainscoting. Dark Venetian plaster displayed impressionist paintings of frolicking nudes from the finest masters.

As the couple made their way through the grand entrance, under a hand-carved archway of leafy, splayed vines and onto the checkered floor of the expansive dance hall, Josef’s smile grew. The pleasurable task of heckling the new guy had come. Kostan had made fun of Coraline’s men for a century. She was a Du Vall. That French family brought his wrath upon them with their stuck-up attitudes and need for superiority. 

And she was a keg of dynamite that was easily ignited, which made teasing her entertaining as hell.

“Coraline, it’s been an eternity!” Josef bent down and kissed her slender arm, wrist and hand, then swept his knuckles gingerly along the petal-pink satin that wrapped her curves to the waist then flowed. “I saw your newest lap dog come in all slack-jawed and I had to come say hello.” 

The woman’s nostrils flared. “Careful, Josef. My brothers would love nothing more than to julienne that sassy tongue,” she retorted, before flashing her pearly whites in a challenge. “And I’d give the order if you didn’t throw a good party. L.A. is simply tedious without them.” Noticing the shifting of curious gazes her way, her mood lightened. She smirked, delighting in the attention.

Her date was less amused. He gave a low growl and displayed needle-sharp teeth.

“Brown hair, brawny and brainless…how exciting.” Josef scowled full force at him. “You’re in mixed company,” Kostan informed of the human and nonhuman guests. “Put on the nice face.”

“The name is Mick—and don’t touch my wife again!” the newbie replied in a sandy and menacing tone, even as his fangs retracted.

“Your _wife_?” repeated Josef, shocked. “No one told me. I’ve got fifty vamps here tonight, the least one could do is catch me up on the latest. I’d heard you had a new chew-toy Cora, but nothing permanent.” Irritated, he spied his guests. He was back to the couple seconds later. The twinkle in his eye returned, as he looked at Coraline and uttered, “I _did_ hear he played guitar for pocket change. Is that true? I’m sure Lance is impressed.”

The vampiress flushed an angry red. “My life here is none of his business!”

“Right,” Josef said flatly. “Does Sylvie know?”

Her brown eyes shot a look that promised pain.

“I want tickets when you tell them.”

“Lance and Sylvie?” asked Mick, glancing at his wife. “Are they a couple?”

“No, they’re not,” she answered brusquely. “It’s Lance and Sylvain. And they’re not important.”

Josef went into hysterics. “Tickets remember,” he declared after, rubbing his fingers and grinning before he left to join another pair.

“What a pompous ass,” muttered Mick seconds later. 

Kostan erupted in another fit of laughter. Approaching them once more, he patted Mick on the back. “I heard that of course. Vamp ears, you know. Can’t live without ‘em. You’re lucky I’m a good sport. It’s my party…and I’m all about having fun. If that makes me an ass, then imagine what it makes you.” He sniffed deeply. “I’m guessing you’re less than a year turned. If you survive a decade. It’ll be a miracle. Until then…enjoy your wedded bliss.”

*****

_If feeding a vampire is incredible, sex must be phenomenal_ , thought Beth—still coasting along wonderfully. Things had started out slowly, continuing at a gentle pace, as if Mick couldn’t get enough. Tingles zipped up and down her spine. It was more than enough to distract her from a knock at the front door or the creak as it opened.

“Beth, you there? It’s Talbot!” shouted a voice.

No one could have ignored that bellow or the clomping strides thundering down the hall. Beth’s head turned, and Mick’s colourless eyes snapped open. He snarled deeply then bit down hard, the taking more insistent.

Pain crashed the party, and Beth cried, “Ouch! That’s enough!”

The pressure disappeared instantly. 

In an armchair three feet from the bed, Mick sat with haunted eyes, having shifted so fast she hadn’t seen it. “I’m s-sorry. I-I lost it there for a minute,” he sputtered, his voice thick.

“It’s okay,” she assured, clamping her other hand on the bite. “I seduced _you_ remember. I knew the risks.”

“That’s no excuse,” answered Mick. “We should’ve never done that. Not without precautions."

“Don’t touch her again, bastard!” hollered Talbot outside.

Mick sneered with his fangs still fully descended. His hands tensed on the armrests, ready to spring like a jungle cat.

“It’s okay. I’m fine!” shouted Beth. She looked at Mick. “Calm down. It’s a scratch.”

“Don’t make excuses for him!” screeched her boss.

Mick ground his jaws together, as thoughts of clawing up Talbot crossed his mind. 

“Geez,” cried Beth, as ruby drops leaked onto her plushy cream carpet. “I’m gonna need a steam cleaner.”

Mick turned to her. “That’s more than a scratch. Damn it!”

“I’m fine. A little drained. But really, it looks worse than it is.”

“Go to the bathroom, Beth. Wrap it tightly.” Taking a deep breath, he tried mightily to calm the rage inside at himself—and the dope behind the door. “I-I can’t follow. I need—”

“A minute. Take a few.” She made her way to the door but wobbled halfway, light-headed. Mick was there to catch her in a blink, lifting her up. 

*****

The bedroom door swung wide, and Beth came out wrapped in Mick’s arms.

“Unbelievable!” Ben spat at the way she clung to that jerk. Glowering, he was not the least bit apologetic to have interrupted them. It was fortunate his new firearm was still at the office, or he might have used it. A trickle of blood escaping Beth’s wrist caught his attention. “What the hell! What kind of monster harms a woman?!” he blasted.

As if words had teeth, St. John reared back.

 _“_ Get away from her!” barked Ben, muscling in roughly for Beth. The P.I. didn’t protest, his head hanging low as he trembled. Beth gasped weakly, drawing Talbot back to her. Shrugging off his sportscoat, he cocooned her lightly then ran to the bathroom, snatching a peach towel and securing it around her arm. “You need stitches.” Ben brushed her blond hair and mustered a reassuring smile.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” argued Beth. “I got worse cat-sitting Maureen’s furball. Travis is moody.”

He shook his head. “It needs to be looked at.”

“Mick can take me."

She called for her attacker, to Ben's disbelief. He braced for another confrontation, frowning deeply when nobody answered. “Gone as soon as it gets tough,” he muttered under his breath _._ Helping Beth to the floor, he pressed firmly on her cuts. “I need your phone. Mine’s in the car.”

“In the kitchen.”

Ben nodded.

They shuffled slowly down the hall to scan the eating bar and countertops, but Beth’s cell was nowhere to be found. Moving together around the apartment, they finally located it on a side table. By that time, two paramedics were already pounding at the front door. “We had a call. Is anyone hurt?” one hollered.

“Yeah, in here,” Ben said thankfully.

*****

“And then I left her with that greasy lawyer…before I gave in to the urge to pull his arms off!” recounted Mick of his horrendous time with Beth, his fists clenched tightly. “It was a disaster.” He couldn’t have stayed, having lost himself in fiery possessiveness once—and nearly twice. Tearing into Talbot would’ve had awful consequences—such as no more attorney. So, he’d let Beth go, knowing she was safe.

From a building top, he’d watched while she was tucked into an ambulance. The slamming of the vehicle’s rear hatch was as painful as a slap, as was the screech of tires as it pulled away. Then, he’d made his way to Josef’s to sulk. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you say,” soothed his pal. “What did Beth expect? To feed then stroke you till you purred—you’re not a tabby. You want her badly. Competition came knocking and you did as vampires do.” Tapping a pencil on his desk before putting his feet up, Josef continued, “Don’t get so down. It could’ve been worse. Take Emma Monahan…one whiff of another on her boytoy and he was a sports page memorial.”

“Not helping.”

Josef sighed. “Beth’ll heal. She doesn’t blame you. Lock the front door next time. And bring some strong handcuffs. Fun for everyone.” He winked.

“I lost it,” Mick whispered, dazed and deflated. After everything he’d done to be less of a bogeyman, it was crushing. Could he forgive himself? Not likely.

“Going Freshie-free these past decades has done little for your vamp side. After all that denial, a beautiful woman would make anyone lose their wits.”

“Still not helping.” 

“Fine,” said Josef. “Control comes with practice. So, here’s my advice…practice, practice, practice!” He flashed a toothy grin. “And Mick,” he added seriously.

“Yeah.”

“You need to learn from your past mistakes.”

Los Angeles, 1957

Coraline ushered her husband away from the dancehall after only three spins around the floor.

 _This guy has more money than Howard Hughes,_ Mick thought, as they passed by a Degas of a busty female. He imagined the cash it would take to own this fancy shack but didn’t say anything. Coraline would've been embarrassed and upset, and her fits were never pretty. She’d scratched him up more than once. Before they’d wed, he’d been head-over-heels for the seductress. Now, it was difficult to remember that time. 

Trust had had its throat ripped out on the marital bed.

Still, there were reasons he stayed with her: the pull of her extraordinary beauty, the mind-blowing sex, the need for comfort during the tailspin that was this crappy existence. Being alone made him terribly anxious. His new, dark drive was demanding. Every day was spent satisfying the hunger so as to stop the writhing need in his belly. Coraline guided and sometimes chided him. He was still learning control. 

Blood drew Mick completely, wrapping him in a heartbeat song more hypnotic than Wes Montgomery’s most soulful jazz. Its power over him was disturbing, and he wasn’t proud of the things he did to sate the lust for it. Mick had mentioned this to Coraline. “You’re above having to answer for anything. Guilt is stupid,” she’d told him. 

The couple settled in a cozy library beyond earshot of the crowd. Cuddling up to her beau, Coraline said, “Pompous is right, we need to teach Josef a lesson.”

“Not possible. He has guards everywhere.” The beefy henchmen surrounded the estate, brandishing handguns in each fist.

“You’re afraid of his humans?” She snickered. “Come on. You’re too quick now to get caught. He deserves a sly kick in the crotch.”

“I can’t outrun silver bullets. His lackeys are armed with it guaranteed,” answered Mick. Kostan spared no expense…and took no prisoners with that tongue of his.

“In front of the guests? Nothing will happen, _cheri_. But if you’re afraid,” Coraline batted her long eyelashes, disappointment marring her doll-like features, “I suppose it’s alright.”

“You think I’m afraid of that punk?!” spat Mick.

“I understand,” she replied with saccharine sweetness, then sighed. “You’re new, darling. And he’s going on three hundred and fifty. Hides it well with that cologne that smells of a randy rooster. Your hesitation is justified.” Coraline patted Mick’s head like a retriever.

“I’m not scared!” he roared, batting her arm away and snarling. He wanted to swing his right hook across the chin of that arrogant-mouthed millionaire and given the chance he would.

“Of course. I meant nothing by it,” she answered, waving a placatory palm. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “My heart is what you are. You said you were hungry. This’ll be better than hunting in dirty alleyways. Josef keeps a harem of women to feed himself.”

“He doesn’t hunt?”

“Too _civilized_.” Coraline laughed. “Imagine when he senses you’ve fed on one of them. He’ll change his mind about your intelligence and craftiness.” She pressed her cherry lips to his in a lengthy kiss. “You can do this,” she told him before her silver tongue found its way into Mick’s mouth.

He welcomed it and explored a little himself. Soon his tongue was gliding down her neck. “I _am_ hungry…for more than blood.” 

Coraline giggled, soft and silky. “I will be your reward, beautiful boy. I’ll distract Josef. Use your senses to find the women with his godawful scent. The human girls dressed like tramps. He prefers them that way.”

Mick nodded in agreement, lacing her hand in his.

*****

Talbot waited outside the second-floor hospital lobby eating a bag of corn chips for breakfast. Orderlies whizzed past like bumblebees and the occasional squeaky-shoed nurse, but no one stopped to tell him anything since they’d given Beth first aid in the emergency department and moved her promptly to this floor. An eternity passed before Officer Ted O’Riley came out with Doctor Barron, the physician who’d refused to talk to him because he wasn’t a relative or police officer. Sometimes his credentials didn’t work like they would if he were a cop.

“Sorry Ben,” O’Reilly said. Shoulder’s shrugging, he sighed, while the doctor moved on to another patient.

“What happened?”

“Turner’s stone-walling.”

Talbot choked. “What? I heard everything.”

The officer shook his head. “Through a door. She denies your statements. Won’t tell us how she got her injuries. They could be self-inflicted or otherwise.”

“I know who did this. I told you!”

O’Reilly sighed. “I’ve got your account. But we can’t back it up. I’m sorry, I know it’s rough. Even Barron isn’t sure what he’s looking at.” 

“What do you mean?”

The man took a notepad from his breast pocket and flipped to his most current scribble. “Doc says the wounds are punctures, not knife or razor cuts. Hard to tell what made them—something sharp, for sure. Does Beth have a pet?”

Ben shook his head. “Not that I saw or heard.” She’d told him once about her long week with her former boss’s cat before the critter was sent to a new home. Beth was no feline fancier. He was fairly sure she didn’t have a dog either.

“Okay,” mumbled O’Riley. “Barron suggested animal bites.” Flipping his notepad shut, he replaced it. “Or something with a point like a letter opener. That’s all I’ve got.”

His mouth taunt, Talbot nodded. “Thanks for trying, Ted. I’ll talk to her.”

“No prob. Give me a call if you get anything,” the man chirped before heading down the corridor.

Ben boiled with frustration. He knew Beth to be practical and smart. _Why she’d cover for that scumbag?_

It was infuriating.

He had to know the truth. Before storming in, however, he calmed himself with a deep breath. Examining things rationally was his trademark, as a lawyer and investigator. Maybe Beth had a good reason to lie. 

Maybe not.

“How’re you feeling?” he inquired, entering her sterile-smelling hospital room.

“A little sore and itchy.”

“Stitches?”

“Yeah. I’m all fixed up.”

“That’s good,” he replied. Examining her bruised wrist, Ben whistled low. “Looks bad.” His gaze crawled up to her face, and a smile grew beneath golden, day-old grizzle. Talbot liked his employee quite a bit…but it wasn’t the time to tell her.

“Not as bad as the stares the nurses have been giving me,” stated Beth.

“Stares?” delved Ben, parking himself on a pink chair of moulded plastic.

“Suicide watch. They’re keeping tabs.” Beth sighed. “I get to talk to Garry the therapist in a half hour. Yay. I still have a headache from Ted and Dr. Barron.”

“Everyone’s concerned for you. Including me,” said Ben, squeezing her hand. How she could underplay something like this was making his anger skyrocket.

“I appreciate the concern, I do. But I’m on the mend. Honest. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell Dr. Barron what happened?”

“It’s nobody’s business but mine…just a stupid accident.”

He shook his head, unconvinced. “Are you covering for your boyfriend? Because I can guess what happened.” Lifting her wrist, he punctuated his point. “ _St. John_ did this!”

She snatched her arm back. “No, he didn’t. And it wasn’t a suicide attempt either.”

“Says the girl who bounds through our office, whose never without a smile. I know that. We both know who did it. It was no accident.”

“Leave it alone, Ben.”

“How can I? I heard you tell Mick to stop. He was _hurting_ you!”

“You heard wrong. Plain and simple.”

“Then why won’t you say what happened? There’s nothing simple about your relationship with that P.I.”

“My relationship with Mick is private!”

“Fine,” Ben grunted. “But I’m worried, Beth. I care about you—as-as my employee. And I won’t see you hurt again.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll try not to be so clumsy.”

Talbot sighed. _This is going nowhere_. “Alright. Well, you know you can talk to me about anything—anytime.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“I _am_ trying to win the ‘Best Boss’ mug this month.” He smirked. “You should take some time off.” _Away from that detective._ “What if I told you I can get Garry and the nurses off your case. I have some strings to pull.” In time, she was likely to open up to him over a therapist. It might be leverage enough to spring her.

Beth’s blue eyes brightened. “That’d be great.”

Ben nodded. “One condition. I don’t want you home alone. I phoned your mom, but no one answered.”

As if he’d thrown a switch, her face turned gloomy, and Ben knew why. During lunchroom chats, she’d revealed her tight bond with her mom. 

“I’ll keep trying. I’m sure Harriet’ll be on the next flight when I do. Till then, I’ll break you out…if you come home with me. I’ve got a nice guestroom with a great view of the ocean. And my Tess adores company.”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” answered Beth. 

“It’s not like that. Throw Tess a ball and her tail’ll be wagging all day. She’s easy to please.” He offered his palm. “Is it a deal?”

A nosey nurse peered in, and Beth scowled. “It’s a deal,” she said to Ben.

And they shook to seal it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to SBJ for the original editing of this chapter…_

An antique clock chimed eight times to announce the morning hour. Bedtime was long overdue. Beginnings of a yolky sun peered through Josef’s downtown office. The tint of the glass blocked its brightness, but some pigeons cooing at the window reminded that all vampires should be cooling off by now.

Calmer after talking things through, Mick itched less to see his freezer and more to see Beth—whether Talbot was with her or not. He trusted her to keep his secrets, but the need to explain his mess up rubbed at him. Josef, however, insisted that she’d be fine awhile longer and was adamant about sharing the council’s news. 

As soon as he’d finished, Mick bolted out of his seat, punching the digits for Beth’s cell. The call went to voicemail. Checking in at the hospital was no better. A grouchy desk clerk informed him that she’d been discharged. Ringing her apartment netted the answering machine. Exhaling loudly, he left a message then helped himself to a glass of scotch and flopped back down on the sofa.

Attempting to distract himself so as not to speculate where she might have gone, Mick said, “Something was gonna happen sooner or later, Josef. You couldn’t run from it. Being head of the city makes you our _prestigious_ leader.”

“I was hoping for later,” Josef grumbled from on an overstuffed leather chair.

His lack of enthusiasm made Mick wonder who had insisted on him for the job. Everyone knew Josef wasn’t the fatherly type; he barely tolerated anyone. When news of arson attacks spread, the locals were likely to panic, and he’d be the one they looked to. It would be an adjustment, as there would be little time for massages.

“I have to get this Logan of yours to send some secure emails…then try to keep things calm when the news hits a couple hundred inboxes. There’s a hunter on the loose with a fire fetish. Plotting who knows what. We need to find out.”

“You got a plan?” Mick asked, interested to see how much his friend had thought the problem through. 

“I’ve got someone who’s tracked McCullough before. Marceline,” Josef scowled, “will be working with the Cleaners. They have no choice because I said so, but they’d rather roast than follow her orders. I need you as a peacekeeper. Keep each side from murdering the other. You have my permission to hose down anyone who starts pulling ponytails.” His mouth turned up devilishly at the thought. “And if you decide to, call me.”

Mick didn’t reply. Beth’s image played in his mind.

 _“That’s enough!”_ she shouted at him.

He brushed her face aside, but not before his heart twisted terribly. Sighing, Mick forced himself to think about the job. He’d partnered with the Cleaners before. “Why do they dislike her so much?” he ventured.

“It’s a ‘my blood is better than yours’ spat that’s been going on forever. You’ve never met a family quite as pretentious as Celine’s,” said Josef. He stopped, thinking a moment, before declaring, “Perhaps _you_ have. They don’t dance to their own drummer. They light a fire under everyone’s feet and force them to shuffle. It makes the Cleaners sharpen their claws.

Mick was puzzled. Making your own rules was a sure ticket to extermination. “They don’t follow the code?” Why hadn’t he heard of these vamps before?

Josef shook his head. “They do, mostly—but they’ve got a lot of influence when it comes to changes and exceptions. Their patriarch, Sylvain, is a big thing on the council. When Larry died, Marceline stepped up to take his place. The whole family assumed the job was hers.”

Mick knew that the previous leader of Los Angeles, Laurence Nicholson, had perished when his car caught on fire in an auto accident. “But she didn’t get it,” he stated.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming. It makes an ass out of you…and then in comes me. I got a promotion.” Kostan scrunched his nose.

Mick opened his mouth to ask more about it, but yowling and ear-piercing screeches interrupted him. Getting up, he crept towards the source, followed by his curious pal. Swinging the office door open, the two peered into the waiting room.

“And what do you fancy for yours—hedge trimmers?!” snarled Kathryn of the Cleaning squad with a crisp English accent at a lone female in a flaming red dress. A group of ladies in skin-tight, black latex flanked her in supportive stances.

The other woman hurled a frosty glare. “You wouldn’t know style if it bit you in the behind! My hair is done by a Parisian master! You couldn’t afford him to trim your moustache, _fillette_!”

Kathryn roared and lunged…

But Josef intervened, stepping between the pair.

“Enough!” he yelled. “No catfights. Can’t have you ripping up reception—I just renovated.” Twenty sets of rage-filled, glowing white irises fixed upon him. A lesser man would have soiled his trousers, but Kostan was undaunted. Glancing stonily at the woman in crimson, he said, “Come in _._ ”

There was a cacophony of clicking, as scores of stilettos filed into his office. At Josef’s hot glare, Marceline was the first to speak. “Of course, _they_ started it with their style 101 in the waiting room…nattering to each other without a clue. They’ve no fashion sense at all. As a suit, rubber is horrifying.” She batted her eyelashes innocently. “And so is the donkey’s tail growing from her head.”

Josef rolled his eyes.

“Her hair _,_ ” the Frenchwoman pointed to the blue-black wave cascading from the top of Kathryn’s head, “is _also_ dreadful. The 90s called and said you can keep that appalling clip-on, even _they_ don’t want it back!”

The head Cleaner sneered, fingers tensing, her midnight-hued manicure ready to gouge out eyeballs.

Josef’s hands fanned in a ceasefire gesture. “Enough. Leave the ‘nice to see you again’ chit chat outside and let’s get to it. Everyone knows why we’re here. So, I’ll make the last introduction.” He jabbed a thumb at Marceline. “Hey, Mick. This is Celine—another Du Vall you’ll wish you never met.”

The P.I. stood frozen and gaping. 

Chocolate brown eyes,

Wine-coloured lips,

A body of fantasy… 

He’d known every curve once upon a time. 

It was Coraline in a pixie cut of auburn.

“You know most of the story. Sylvain Du Vall was the cousin of a French King. After he became a vamp, he turned his whole brood—six brothers and you-know-who. Then Lance turned his sons, Grégoire and Simon, and his _darling_ daughter Celine. And now _Princess Charming_ here is going to tell us everything she knows about hunting hunters.”

The lady ignored the barbs, as she grinned widely at Mick’s amazed expression.

He saw only his ex…

And the way she used to wipe the blood from her lips with the very same smile.

*****

“How’s Beth?” said a familiar voice over the phone.

“Sleeping,” Talbot replied crabbily. His stalker was back and seemed to know his work number as well as his private cell.

“Uh-huh. My eyes on her apartment saw the ambulance.”

“She was injured,” Ben blurted, not sure why he catered to this loony. Fatigue and annoyance were the likely culprits. During the drive home, his questions about St. John had splattered hopelessly on Beth’s stone wall. She’d clammed up completely, opting to stare at passing palm trees. When they’d arrived, she promptly asked for his phone. Ben had suggested she rest first.

“Neck bites?” asked the caller.

Talbot scoffed. “Nope. Still chasing Dracula?”

“The wrist then. Why won’t you accept that you’re dealing with a vampire?”

“Because they don’t exist.” Ben sighed, exhausted. “And I’m not a screwball. I ignore the crazy voices that call me on the phone!” He took a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool. “I refuse to believe in something that isn’t real,” he said, calming down. His life had been built on the knowledge that things happened for explainable reasons. 

“You’re stubborn, Talbot. Walking in on a vampire feeding, seeing Turner’s wounds…and _still_ you refuse to see the whole picture.”

Ben scowled. “St. John’s a monster. But jerks like him don’t need to sprout fangs to hurt people.” 

_The doctor suggested animal bites,_ his mind itched, pulling him back to the dead paparazzo. 

_Foster had teeth marks on his throat,_ it hiccupped again. 

He squashed all random thoughts. _Approach this guy like any weirdo with a bit of information and an elephant-sized ego_ , he told himself. “Did you witness Dean Foster’s death?” Ben inquired, using his on-a-case tone.

“St. John did it, no question. Dean gave his photos to Turner…the same ones I gave you. She told her boyfriend, and he killed to protect his secret.”

“Did you see Mick do it?” repeated Ben.

“Didn’t have to. I know what he’s capable of. All the evidence was on the body. Check the autopsy report.”

“If you weren’t there, how’d you know that Beth told _anyone_ about the pictures _…_ or that either of them was involved? _”_

“Turner’s infatuated. She’d do anything for St. John,” the stranger snorted. “I’m sure she thinks he loves her too. But they’re not capable of it. She’s an easy meal, nothing more.”

“So, St. John killed Foster with his teeth? No dogs, no animals—just a man…er… _vampire_.” 

“Yeah.”

“Assuming I believe you, which I don’t…did Beth know what he’d do?”

The caller laughed. “She knows all about vampires. This isn’t the first time he’s left marks on her either. Ask about it. My guess is she won’t tell you the truth.”

Ben fumed. _That much is true_ , he admitted silently _. Has that bastard roughed her up before?_

“Try to prove she provoked a vampire to kill if you can get past your puppy crush. They’ll lock you up even if you _don’t_ tell them you hear voices!” The man chuckled again.

“If St. John turns out to be a vampire, I may commit myself,” muttered Talbot.

“He could kill her.”

“I’ll protect Beth,” Ben vowed. And he’d do everything in his power to convince her that St. John was trouble. “But I need to know everything about Foster.”

“We’ll meet soon. If you want answers in the meantime…ask your guest.”

“Give me your name at least.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the caller replied. “See ya around.”

“Wait! If we’re going to start trusting each other…give me your name!”

“Call me Gus,” the voice said before the line cut off.

*****

Two vampires, one a stockbroker and the other a computer technician, were deep in conversation when Josef’s assistant came into the room. He was complaining about his absent tech whiz, Ryder. And Logan Griffen was nodding and rapidly firing uh-huhs, clearly in awe to be talking to the richest vampire in the city. 

Only when Kostan turned around did he notice Zahra’s mouth open in an “O”, as she tried to catch his eye. He put his pointer up for silence. “How soon can you do this?”

“I have the names and addresses now. Took a while to break into Ryder’s files, but I managed to get what I needed,” said Logan, holding up his portable hard drive. “I’ll make sure your message is sent safely, but I need the stuff in my basement.”

Josef nodded, then looked at his secretary. “Yes?” he asked impatiently.

“I can’t remember when you wanted your refreshments,” said Zahra. She glanced at Logan. “Did you want me to offer anyone to Mr. Griffen?”

“I’m good,” Logan replied, his eyes darting to the floor in front a vamp of the opposite sex. “It’s LBT’s delivery day. If I’m not home my whole week’s worth of ‘Chardonnay’ gets sent back.” 

“I’m new to Los Angeles. What exactly is LBT?” asked Zahra.

 _“Le Bon Temps_ is the only donor service that delivers. Logan is part of their ‘Wine of the Week’ club,” explained Josef.

“Chardonnay is the stock word for AB negative,” Logan added sheepishly. “Found out the hard way they don’t like to leave it. Fifteen years ago, I went to Comicon. They’d just killed Superman! Had to see the fallout for myself. And man was it worth the price of ad—”

“I’m thirsty… _now_.” Josef couldn’t give a bat’s ass about comic books. And as for his new assistant, he didn’t like her as much as his regular one. Simran knew the routine and didn’t ask questions. She would have scampered away and hollered at a Freshie by now. He liked his blood warm at specific hours of the night. 

And damn it, eight p.m. was teatime.

Why did Simran have to go to England and leave him with her sister? Josef was up to his elbows in this hunter predicament. Someone who knew how to run the office was urgently needed. This temp was making him grumpy. 

Eventually, Zahra did come through. Josef said goodbye to the geek with the frizzy hair and had his fill of Stephanie. Then, he indulged a moment of quiet. 

This leader business sucked. 

He reminded himself to thank Mick since it was entirely his fault.

*****

1957 

Mick coaxed the woman into a billiard room with ease. 

Her name was Alanna or something. He couldn’t have cared less. He had little regard for his wife as well, dancing downstairs with Josef. Not because this little redhead was special—though her freckles were admittedly cute. It was the thick purple lines on her skin that held his attention. Her veins twitched a rhythm. His heart matched it. Mick’s eyes were next, turning colourless. 

Giggling, the woman peeled back a strap on her dress. “Is this what you need?” she teased. 

Her finger thrust into his mouth, massaging the now lengthy tips. Growls escaped him, for his teeth were extremely sensitive. She moved on, nibbling his neck. Mick stifled a moan at the pleasure. In a swift motion, he bent forward, pointy fangs scraping against the flesh of her shoulder. Hot blood dribbled out.

And all of his patience dissolved. 

Pressing her against a wall, Mick lapped up the offering greedily until the flow began to cease. He frowned and looked at her neck. The fat vein that traveled from her chin downwards held him hostage. He gave a raspy hiss and struck, biting down and drinking urgently. His feeding was not gentle, but the Freshie was calm, as she rubbed Mick’s forearms. A contented rumble rolled through him. Sealed off in a private circle, both were oblivious. Neither noticed someone come racing from behind.

“Let her go!” demanded Josef, eyes frosting over while his canine teeth shot down.

Mouth messy, Mick snapped at him, and then returned to his feast.

“You really _are_ a brainless bastard! Of all the girls to pick…”

Mick bit down harder, unyieldingly. 

Heavy footfalls came closer. Talon-like nails sunk deep into his chin, causing him to release his meal and roar in pain. Before he could face his attacker, though, he was backhanded with a jaw-cracking smack that sent him tumbling down.

“How dare you!” blasted the newcomer with a thick European accent. “I should rip your throat out, let it heal, and rip it out again!” His face seemed straight out of a nightmare. Rust-red skin with a deep-set, ebony glare, he looked more like a demon than a vampire. But his set of two lengthy incisors were definitely vampiric.

“Your honour,” Josef interrupted, still fuming himself. “Eliza needs you.”

Mick rubbed the bruised temple he’d received from the fall and looked at the woman. She was struggling to stay standing. Guilt sparked to life inside him. 

“You really got me,” Eliza declared, pressing herself against the wall for balance and holding her hand to the wound. She grinned at Mick.

Her carefree attitude was astonishing...but did little to dull his shame. His lips formed an apology. It was for nothing, however. The strange-looking European had her cradled in his arms and headed for the door before he could speak.

Lingering on the threshold, the odd man whipped back. “I’m blaming you, Kostan! Catering to Eliza's whims’ this morning is one thing but allowing her to be mauled by a wild one is quite another!”

“Me?!” gasped Josef. “This has nothing to do with me! Your Freshie is frisky!” He glanced murderously at Mick. “And this one is stupid!”

The man ignored him. “Why do I give you so much freedom little one?” he whispered to Eliza before storming off.

Mick stared after the pair. A vampire and a human—he couldn’t contemplate such a relationship. He turned to Kostan a moment later. “I’m not stupid or a lap dog!”

“Really? I see Coraline leading you around by the stones. Then you act like a jackass draining my guest’s prized Freshie…a dangerously idiotic idea that smells of a Du Vall. Where is her heinous right now? Laughing her pretty head off faraway from here, quite likely.”

Josef seized Mick’s shoulders lightning-fast, lifting him up then smashing his back down on the grass-green felt of a pool table. Billiard balls scattered. As number eight rolled into a pocket, Kostan grabbed his neck in a death grip.

“You’re no better than her other dimwits! She’s a poisonous flower, charming fools like you until they’ll do anything. I suppose you think you’re special—her soulmate or something equally vapid. Open your eyes! You’re a pawn.”

“Go to hell!” Mick managed around the vise squeezing his vocal cords. He wanted to murder this man, then seek answers from his wife. Doubts swirled rampant. _Did she love me as she said? Or am I just a token in her favourite game?_ “I didn’t ask for any part of her messed-up world!” 

“They never do,” Josef said blandly. “Who’s your sire?”

“She did this!” Rage frothed over, as Mick thrashed. He raked his claw’s satisfyingly over Kostan’s left forearm, drawing drops of red.

“She seduced me…blah, blah, blah. Sounds familiar,” Josef mocked, his scratch already healing. “Your sire?” he asked again.

The desire to eviscerate the millionaire with his nails sprang to mind. Mick shook it off momentarily. “She killed me on our wedding night! Turned me!” he blurted. _And took everything I was._ His friends and family had been lost with Coraline’s bite. They were now off-limits. White irises turned humanly hazel at the thought of his mother heartsick, wondering where he was.

“Unbelievable,” scoffed Josef, knowing Coraline’s aversion for attachment was as strong as his own. But he didn’t ask for details. “You almost killed a human in my house! Freshies that do a service for us are not expendable! And _that_ particular one happens to be the pet of Derek, the council chair.”

“Coraline says all humans are expendable,” Mick said mutedly. 

“And you believe her because…you can’t think for yourself? You’d be better off if I put you down!

Mick bared his teeth. “I didn’t say I believed her! I never asked to be a monster!”

Josef groaned loudly. “Ugh, I’ve never seen such a poor candidate for fangs in all my life. Luckily…there’s an easy fix.” He unsheathed a silver spike from his suit coat pocket to deliver a killing blow.

“Do it!” challenged Mick. _What I want is an end to this_.

Josef lifted the stake over his shoulder to strike.

“Don’t touch him!” ordered a voice from the door.

The European whisked into the room, looking less devilish with moon-pale skin and contrasting features of dark golden eyes and brown hair, but with the same murderous expression. He snatched the weapon and tossed it, then glared at Mick. “This one’s not afraid. Death is no punishment at all. He clearly hates what he is. But…I’ve a way to punish you both.”

He turned to Josef with a scowl. “You’ll mentor this one, Kostan, and learn what it is to be responsible. His training has been poorly done. Teach him _restraint_ …as you school him on living as one of us. Watch him and protect him. For if he dies by his hand or another…you die as well.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

_Thanks to SBJ for the original edit of this chapter..._

Beth sat on an unfamiliar bed looking out at white-capped waves and shaking off the remnants of sleep. She swam in Ben's navy plaid pyjamas. They hadn't gone back to her place. Returning to the scene of 'the attack' (yes, that's what he was calling it) might be traumatic, explained the A.D.A. She figured he didn't want to face the possibility that Mick could be lurking.

Her boss had bugged her the whole way to his townhome, saying things like, "Has he ever hurt you before?" She knew better than to answer. It bothered her that he thought Mick was abusive, but it was best to say nothing.

Pulling off the nightwear, she tried on the outfit laid out for her. The jogging pants and polo shirt swallowed her up. Frowning, she couldn't wait for Amanda to come back. Ben's secretary had dropped by, scooped up her key, scanned the list she'd made, and had gone to collect everything.

Bright yellow tube socks went up to Beth's knees. Rising, she examined herself in a full-length mirror. Her stomach fluttered like a nest of hornets, for she was reminded of the last time she'd worn oversized clothing. Coraline had put her in a frilly, baby doll dress that ran past her ankles.

Beth had agreed to Ben's offer because of the kidnapping—or, more precisely, its aftermath. With eyes on her slightest steps, she had not been permitted to go anywhere alone. And, to keep the outside from coming in, her mother had new locks installed. At night, Harriet Turner patrolled the hallways with nervous strides. Beth would count her bedside visits like sheep. It was out of love…but it left her feeling trapped all the more.

As time passed, the period around the abduction had been buried, along with the fishbowl feeling of being guarded. Visits from throngs of police officers, reporters, as well as therapists had been blocked out. But the stares at the hospital had brought them all charging back. She had to get away. Rest in a quiet place seemed perfect even with the awkwardness of sleeping two doors down from her boss.

Now in a strange room of silver-striped wallpaper and mismatched, pressboard furniture, she absorbed the events with Mick. She felt awful to have pushed so hard. He'd warned her, but she'd insisted, thinking his nature was easily dealt with. Then Talbot had barged in, and he'd reacted. _What if Ben had burst into my bedroom?_ He had no idea how close he'd come to a brawl with a vampire.

Beth's felt her palms sweat, reminded of Emma Monahan.

_When Dominic told her he was seeing Lisa, she lost control…_

_He was dead before she even realized what she'd done..._

Beth shivered. She loved Mick and missed him...

But building a life with a vampire had truly frightening moments.

* * *

"Beth!" Mick said apprehensively in the back of one of the Cleaner's vans. "You okay?"

Marceline, who sat nearby on a back bench, scrutinized him.

"I tried the hospital and your apartment. You weren't answering your cell," he whispered futilely, for the vampiress could hear every word.

"They rushed me out. I forgot it," explained Beth.

"I'm sorry about—being an idiot. And, leaving you. I shouldn't have," he said wretchedly. _I didn't want to_. _I never do..._

"It's okay. Really, I was fine. It all worked out," replied Beth.

Her assurance did little to cheer him. He wanted to blurt out how desperately he'd wanted to stay. _A mortal man would've. But I was afraid—of what I do…and the look on your face after I did it._ Marceline's judgy gaze cut him, and he edited, "I should've looked after you. Taken care of you."

"I understand. It was _difficult_ for you to be there. But you called for help. That was the best thing," Beth answered. "And Ben was around."

"Yes, he was," repeated Mick, unimpressed. "How're you feeling?" he asked tightly, trying not to expose the green-eyed monster roaring to life inside. Safe, normal Talbot could be with her the way a man was supposed to be. He hoped to God that never happened.

"Great. They bandaged me up and sent me on my way. That's about it. I'm staying at, uh, a girlfriend's for a bit…but I'll be home soon."

"Alright." Mick replied, sensing that something was off. He thought about pressing for the address with the excuse of dropping by but decided against it. _She needs space_. "I love you. Call me when you can," he told her instead.

"Love you too. Will do as soon as possible," said Beth before hanging up.

Turning off his phone, Mick frowned, feeling dreadful. His personal life was on delicate ground, and they’d found no sign of McCullough after a full day of searching. It was time to give up. The Cleaners were dropping him off for the day. He’d have the snack he’d grabbed from the morgue while the ladies dealt with a clean-up. Then, he’d have chilly rest. 

“She needs you,” Marceline said mutedly.

“I’m not sure what Beth wants. And I don’t wanna talk about it.”

The lady scowled. “I’m not speaking of your human toy. _Coraline_ needs you when this hunter is dead. She’s the only one who understands what it’s like to be a woman under the thumb of Sylvain Du Vall. Grand-père is cruel. Treats us like property. Tante Coraline was fierce in her attempts to be free. But no one goes against him without consequences, especially his jewel of a daughter. She was his pride and joy. He never missed an opportunity to show her off. Now, he’ll never let her go.” 

Mick looked at her, speechless. His wife’s capture by Lance a few months ago was another of his failures. Knowing it was his ex that suffered didn’t make it less bothersome. She’d exchanged her freedom for his life. He’d never seen her do such a selfless thing.

“She committed the ultimate crime—betraying his trust. Branding with silver has always been his way. When she’s sick and scarred, he comes at her again. She’ll be killed in the end. I pled for mercy, but Grand-père won’t listen. And papa thinks she deserves it.” Her dark eyes flickered white in anger. “I don’t think _I_ could absolve anyone who tried to murder me. But Coraline has forgiven you. _L’Amour peut le surmonter—_ love conquers all. She clings to that…and the idea of a life with you.”

The redhead glanced at the driver and front passenger busily chatting before she continued, “That night you tried to burn her. You couldn’t have. But it must’ve been terrifying for her nonetheless.”

“I’m not proud of what happened…back then or when Lance took her.”

“Why didn’t you do something to keep her from papa? I’ve heard you take on vampires that risk the lives of humans and our kind. Such a knight—yet you let her down spectacularly.”

“I tried to save her. I was human at the time. He wiped the floor with me.”

“You used it? The cure. She stole Grand-père’s most prized possession. He dabbled over the centuries in alchemy and medicinal herbs as a way to unlock the secrets in vampire blood. The cure was his creation. With his help, our family has succeeded in changing ourselves in other ways never thought possible. This hunter is a firebug, but that’ll never be our problem. He’ll have to think of other means to mess with a Du Vall. And, after the attempt in Hamburg failed, Grand-père thinks he might.”

“I saw Lance heal from a fire,” Mick said, remembering. “How is it possible?”

Marceline’s chest puffed with pride. “It started with Grand-père…he altered his blood somehow through the experiments. Then, he shared it with his children. They became immune as well. Papa passed it to me and my brothers. Now _all_ Du Valls are superior. And we keep it to ourselves. You are blessed to be Coraline’s turn—the only outsider to receive the gift.” 

“I don’t feel blessed,” quipped Mick. “Coraline tried to change a young girl. I couldn’t let it happen!” he said, his anger rising. Beth would have been a child forever, warped by desires that adults had difficulty grappling. Who knows what she would have become?

Marceline shrugged. “It was to make you happy. Coraline knew you resented your turning. You wanted a normal life…and this was her way of providing a facsimile. It was misguided, but not heartless. She stole the cure for you as well. To give you a mortal life in hopes that you’d spend it with her.” Her face turned desperate, as she bent in close and grabbed his hand in her ruby-red tipped fingers. “Please. Coraline’s been there for me. I need your help to save her. I’m alone. My brothers won’t stand up to Grand-père, and papa hangs on his words like they were royal decrees.”

“I know I failed her. And I get that you’re upset. Coraline’s not half the saint you make her out to be—but she didn’t deserve this.” He rubbed his forehead with the thought of more unfinished business. _She’ll be killed in the end._ Coraline had been terrified to return to France. Of what he’d do to her—her father, Sylvain. “Where’s gramps now?” asked Mick.

“I’ve put myself at risk sharing this much. I’ve got to be certain you’re an ally before I tell more.”

*****

“Terr, you owe me a month of day shifts!” Guillermo growled, as he chucked the last of the blood bags he’d syphoned from cadavers over the last week into a bin and put them in cold storage behind the PCR samples. Inventorying the “donations” had been a chore. Stopping to sense for mortals in the vicinity every other minute had made it onerous. He hadn’t had a break, worrying constantly about getting caught.

Terrance, his co-worker, was supposed to have been his lookout, but the guy hadn’t showed. Guillermo knew the vamp loved the Chinese theatre as much as he did. And there was a teen gore fest on. Terr adored slasher flicks. Damn it though, he hadn’t had the decency to call. 

Gasol had a few choice words on hold for him. But right now, it was time for lunch. With a long-toothed grin, he swiped a sack of O+ from his stash. “Hello beauty,” he murmured, opening the top valve. 

Gurney wheels squeaked and voices chattered outside the examination room doors. 

Nerves shot, Guillermo jumped, and the blood bag flopped, dribbling red over the floor. “Shit!” he cursed, closing the packet quickly and lobbing it into the fridge before slamming the unit shut with his rear.

As the double doors swung wide, he dove and wiped some splashes on the linoleum with a cotton cloth, then scanned the crooks and crannies under the stainless table the middle of the room. An earthy scent of decay teased his nose. He relaxed at the familiar smell which signaled a vampire was approaching. “Well well, you decided to show your butt after all, Terr. Just in time for an ass-kicking _._ Where the hell have you been?” said Guillermo, as he finished mopping. 

“That’s what I’d like to know. Wasn’t Terrance on duty yesterday and tonight? Two days gone without an excuse, shameful. At least you showed up today. And what’re you doing down there?” said a lower voice than his partner’s. It was Dr. Mosley, the human coroner. The gap-toothed twenty-something pushing a body behind him wasn’t a vamp either. Guillermo rose quickly to help and together they transferred the corpse onto the exam table. Its coverings ruffled as they put it down—a vampirish scent of rot wafting. 

The doctor’s brows knit. “Gasol, there’s a puddle here. Looks like blood.” He pushed his wire glasses up and bent at the waist to examine it. “Clean it up. And try to be tidier between cases. Can’t have old blood contaminating the next autopsy.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Guillermo said fast, rinsing his rag discreetly in a wide basin sink. He brought a clean one over to give the puddle a swipe.

“Life just got busy,” said Mosley in his way, pulling back the linens over the body. “This one’s been through hell. There’s another one just like it, waiting across town. Odd cases with unusual markings. It’ll be interesting to take a peek inside. But sorry Mr. Gambino—you’ll have to sit tight.” He turned to Guillermo, and said, “Check the paperwork and prep him. I’ll be back in a few hours,” before dashing out with the young human in tow.

Alone, Gasol stared at his latest customer, cringing. “Poor son of a bitch. What a way to die.” He’d known this guy. Antony Gambino had used his bagged blood service for years. By the looks of things, the vamp had died in a seriously painful way. His eyes were prune-like, sickly grey orbs. And his veins, black as charcoal, protruded. Worse, when Guillermo peeled back his ashy lips fully extended canines poked out.

He grimaced. “How am I gonna make up a story about those?” he muttered. Not many vamps made it as far as the county coroner’s building. The Cleaners were far too efficient. “Damage control is their gig, not mine,” he moaned, then sighed. They had their hands full right now, he knew. An email about McCullough had pinged on his cell last night. “Did he get to you, Tony?” asked Gasol. Panic rising, he decided the easiest thing was to clean the red smear on the far corner of the table. Then, he’d figure out the rest. 

Covering the body again, he squatted beside smudge. Wisps of sweet copper called him, making his stomach growl. Impulsively, he dabbed his latex-gloved in the now sticky blood and brought a finger to his tongue. 

It was warm. 

Heat turned to fire in an instant.

“Silver!” shouted Guillermo, as it scorched the roof of his mouth and made him feel violently sick.

*****

Quiet at last. 

The women had driven Mick bonkers as they tossed insults all night. Marceline had declared Kathryn’s shoes to be S&M meets Payless, while the Cleaner threatened to pull the stick from her ass and stake her. On and on jibes went, all night long. Refereeing had been exhausting. He appreciated the serenity of his apartment more than ever. Relaxing on his leather couch with a newspaper in hand and a glass of red, it was heaven. 

And boy was he thirsty. 

It’d been more than a day since he’d last fed, for guilt had ruined his appetite. Vampires could fast, but not for long. He was already feeling a painful need that snapped in his gut and sizzled through his veins.

Time to rectify it.

He grabbed a cut crystal tumbler from his coffee table and sipped—spitting it out violently an instant later. The lingering blood coating his mouth felt like needles searing his cheeks and a blaze roasting his tongue. Mick moved super swift to wash out his mouth with the flexible hose on his kitchen sink. He rinsed again and again, letting coolness counteract the agony. Only when things began to heal, did he turn off the tap. Nausea rose up as an aftereffect. He retched. But there was nothing to throw up.

After rough waves of sickness ebbed, Mick examined the glass. His phone rang. He picked it up and answered, “Yeah?”

“Don’t touch the bag I gave you tonight!” yelled Guillermo. “It’s tainted—”

“With silver,” Mick finished. “Figured that one out.”

“You drank it?!”

“Yes—and ouch! My mouth still hates me. What happened?”

“A body came in, a vamp with weirdass looking veins. And his eyes, well—it looked like laser surgery from Hell!”

“Who?”

“Tony. I gave him six units of B neg a couple hours ago. Must’ve injected it. There’s no blood left, just black sludge. I tasted some blood from my stash. It burned and made me sick. Someone must’ve gotten in here and messed with it. Terr had the day shift yesterday and he’s missing.”

“The hunters know about your operation,” declared Mick

“Looks like. There’s another body on the way. And the coroner wants to look at Tony. He’s gonna freak when he sees the guy’s dental work, if you know what I mean. I have to call the rest of the vamps who got bad blood.” Guillermo’s voice rose with stress. “I can’t deal with all this!”

“Let me call Josef—see if he can get you some backup. I’ll check on Terrence, then I’ll come down. Watch out in the meantime. And let LBT know about the poisoning. They should watch for tampering too. How long will it take you to replenish your supply?”

“A week maybe.”

“And how many thirsty clients?” asked Mick.

“Seventy-three regulars,” replied Guillermo.

“Can LBT handle the extra load?”

“Don’t know. I don’t talk to the competition. Couldn’t we get some Freshies?”

“That’d be a risk right now. And not all vamps can afford them,” said Mick. Retaining a group of Freshies was exclusive because of the expense. Clients were ultra-rich vamps. For security purposes, they kept their donor groups small and the screening process rigid. 

“This is going to get bad,” said Guillermo.

“Uh huh,” replied Mick. He hung up and dialled Josef.

******

“Zahra, get that Griffen kid back on the phone!” Josef commanded via his office telecom. The sky was falling. Panicked vamps had rung him for reassurance all night. Now, according to Mick, there were poisonings. After hearing this news, Kostan had arranged a conference call with the council. Sylvain had gone rabid during the two-hour session, barking that the L.A. blood supply should have been better secured.

Then, he'd taken the opportunity to call for Josef’s resignation. But, to Kostan’s dismay, not everyone agreed he should be sacked. One matter, however, was unanimous. It was decided that the nearest council rep would come and assist. He was already en-route.

“Of course, Sir. Do you, uh, have the number? I copied it into the database. But I can’t seem to bring it up now. I’ve messaged my sister. I’m not used to the system Simran uses,” said Zahra, sheepishly. 

Josef could hear a series of angry beeps, as she tried desperately to retrieve the info. “I gave you the paper Mick wrote it on!” he roared.

“I shredded it to be safe. I’m s-so sorry,” sputtered the temp. “I-I’ll call Simran again.”

He hissed loudly and disconnected. His usual secretary had assured him that Zahra was capable of running the office. She’d obviously embellished things to get the time off. 

Josef grumbled as he dialled Mick.

*****

Ben loved the beaches of California. He’d grown up close to a bunch of lakes. But none of them held a candle to the ocean. in order to breathe in the clean, salty air at least once a day, he’d rented a townhouse on the shoreline.

When the tides were especially low, he loved it the most. The water would recede, leaving alien terrains to explore. Spindly starfish clung to craggy rock edges, while frantic bullheads swam tight circles in shallow pools. Star-patterned sand dollars, razor-backed clams and gelatinous sea anemones of vibrant purples, oranges and greens—it was otherworldly

Ben had learned to identify everything and took pictures galore. His walls were bursting with seascapes. Tess, his dog, loved the beach as well. She could run endlessly, fetching pock-marked driftwood. Even when her tongue lolled in exhaustion, she refused to give up the game.

Currently, Talbot sat on his back steps. The screen door was wide open behind him, letting a warm breeze inside. He enjoyed the wind on his face while he waited. From the rustling in the guest room, he knew Beth was up. He'd heard her muffled voice talking to St. John a while back.

“Everything okay?” he said, as she came out.

She nodded.

“I’ve got some news,” Ben told her, when she sat down beside him. “Your mom phoned while you were asleep. It seems your grandma has hurt her hip. Harriet left a number for you to call at the nursing home. They’ll be there this afternoon—after a doctor visit. She told me to tell you that she loves you. I was thinking we could go for a walk in the meantime.”

Frothy waves called to her, and Beth looked longingly at them. “A walk would be nice,” she agreed.

Tess came bounding, having heard them. Ben moved to let her past. Then, he rose and helped Beth up. The pair roamed over white sand, talking as they went, and throwing sticks for Tess. The conversation went from cases to current affairs. There was agreement on half and debate of the rest. 

“I grew up in Colorado. Lots of lakes, but nothing like this,” Ben declared as they met the surf’s edge. With a boyish grin, he dipped his feet in the foam. “I’d never felt undertow before moving here. Such a strange feeling. Pulls the ground from your toes like it wants to suck you in. I feel like that sometimes, even without the sea.”

Beth nodded. “Everyone does at some time or another.”

“On shaky ground?” said Ben. “I’ve definitely felt that way. That’s why I moved here.”

“Want to talk about it?” asked Beth. Hearing about other’s problems was a good distraction from her own. Besides, the look in Ben’s eyes told her that he hadn’t had the chance to let it out.

“You want to be a therapist now?”

Beth nodded again. “You bet. I’m a good ear. You’ll see.”

Talbot laughed. “Well ok, Doctor Turner. Before I came to L.A., I was head over heels for someone. She was sweet…and gregarious with this light that just drew me. Before I knew it, I was in deep. But I wasn’t scared. I was elated. It seemed like all of my other relationships were a test so that I could appreciate how right Lyla was for me.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was—at first. I never wanted someone like I wanted her. We bared ourselves to each other, flaws and all, and came out stronger. I loved her deeper because she knew all of me. She was kind, honest and wonderful—or so I thought. Found out later, she was none of these things. Nothing she’d told me was true. She’d needed to lay low, and a I was the lucky sucker that believed her con. Everything, even her childhood pet for Pete’s sake—it was all fake. Her real name was Lisa or something. That she needed some help wasn’t the problem, but the lying was something I couldn’t overcome.”

“Understandable. Sounds rough,” replied Beth.

“Yeah. But I’m here now. Out with the old life, in with the new. Believe me, it’s not easy for me to babble like this. I guess, I trust you.”

“Everyone needs to get things off their chest. And you’re not babbling.”

Ben smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Lyla…or Lisa, tricked me, pulled me into a situation I didn’t want a part of. It left me scarred. Literally.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Beth.

“I’ve been cautious ever since then. Can’t jump in with both feet again. I thought she was the one and got stung. Seems like, we can _all_ get our heads turned by love or the idea of it.”

Beth looked at him suspiciously. “There’s a lesson for me here, isn’t there? That’s what you think I’m doing with Mick, getting in too deep. Baring your soul, it was to try and convince me to back off, wasn’t it?”

“The ‘baring of my soul part’,” he said with air quotations, “was the real deal. But I’ve heard about St. John. Not great things. And I’m worried.”

“Would you stop already. He’s a good man,” answered Beth.

“He hurt you,” he said. “Scarred _you_.”

She scowled. “I told you it wasn’t his fault. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because I know what I heard. You told him to stop. You were in pain.”

She looked at the bubbling water rushing over her ankles. The tide was coming in. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered. 

Talbot sighed. “Beth, you can tell me if I’m crazy, but I’m just gonna say it. Did Mick _bite_ you?”

She was shocked. “Of c-course not!” 

“You’re a lousy poker face.He bit you!” Ben gasped aloud. “He thinks he’s a vampire! Shit! I’m going crazy…everyone around me is nuts.” The attorney shook his head, then corrected, “Present company excluded.”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“Then tell me what it’s like. Crypts, coffins and creeping? Does he wear a cape and fake teeth to bed?”

Beth looked at him drolly. “Funny.”

“I was thinking the opposite. There’s a tipster who swears Mick St. John killed Dean Foster. Remember that guy—the pap that was found dead behind the Arbour Bistro.”

Beth’s blue eyes went huge. “M-Mick didn’t kill him. H-he would never.”

“How do you know? Foster had bite marks. Does Mick like to play Dracula often?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“You sound convinced. Anything you’d like to share? I know Foster gave you his photos, Beth. I saw them too. And I saw how Mick saved you from getting hit by a car. The car mowed him down, then he walked away like nothing happened. Care to explain?”

She didn’t answer.

“You told Mick about the pictures. That’s my guess. Then, the pap died. You’re in danger. My instincts are screaming at me on this. St. John is trouble—and being with him puts you square in its path.”

“Why do you care? Just drop it!”

“I’m an attorney! Just like Lindsay. I put murderers away for a living. I can’t drop it! And the Foster case has never been solved!” Talbot shouted, his frustration escalating. “I wasn’t going to say this. I know it complicates things but…I like you. Not just as your boss—a-and more than a friend. I’m not expecting you to feel the same. But know that I want the best for you. You’re in danger, Beth. _Please_ hear me…Mick is BAD news.”

“You’re blowing things out of proportion,” muttered Beth.

“How long have you known him?”

“Six months.”

“Not a long time…and he gives you this,” Talbot pointed to her bandages. “For what—refusing to be a partner in his kinky sex play? It doesn’t seem fair.”

Beth opened her mouth to reply. But Ben’s cell interrupted her.

*****

Josef had sent the Cleaners and Marceline to check on Terrance, while Mick made his way to the morgue. The detective was halfway down the last hospital-like hallway when his phone went off. He checked the number. It was Kathryn. “Hey Kate, anything interesting?” he said.

“Maybe. There’s no sign of Terrence at his flat. Tina, his girlfriend, is here. She said they had a date last night, but he didn’t show. His car is in the drive and his keys are hanging by the door. Tina said he always keeps his morgue pass there as well. But it’s nowhere to be found. Oh, and Miss French Priss is MIA as well.”

“Marceline’s gone?”

“That woman is insufferable!” snapped Kathryn. “She was bothering Tina, pushing her hard like she was a suspect. We told her _nicely_ to stop and she stormed off.”

“I’ll deal with her. Thanks,” said Mick before hanging up. He’d have to talk to Marceline later. Right now, it was time to see Guillermo. He reached the correct autopsy room only to see the backs of two figures with the attendant through a window. He sniffed the air. It was thick with the scent of vampires. At least one of Josef’s backup team was very old. How did they get here so fast? With his excellent hearing, Mick could hear the three vamps conversing.

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to be rude…but John Smith sounds kinda fake. Wasn’t there a better name?” Guillermo asked the taller of the two, a man in a long lab coat.

“It’s Doctor Jon D. Smithman, forensic pathologist, for now. And he doesn’t really have a creative streak, Guillermo. He’s all business, all the time,” said the shorter one, a woman in a sleek grey business suit.

“Let me guess. Is yours Jane Doe?” said Guillermo

“No.” She laughed. “Sue Doherty, FBI, at your service. I’ll monitor and secure the blood supply here and at LBT. Jonny here is spin control. He’s got all the charm.” She winked.

“I don’t need charm.” the man growled, surveying the room. “I have power.” He turned, his expression souring when he saw who was coming through the doors.

“Mick!” Guillermo exclaimed. “Meet the help. This is Doctor Jon Smithman and his associate Ms. Sue Doherty. They’re _feds_.”

“It’s been a while,” said Sue, coming over and placing a peck on both of St. John’s cheeks. “We’re so happy to see you again.”

“I’m not that happy,” grumbled the doctor. It was the gruff European who had made Josef Mick’s mentor.

“Don’t mind D,” Sue explained, giving her partner a side squeeze. “The situation of late has made him a sourpuss. We’ve been keeping tabs on you over the decades. What my hubby meant to say was…you turned out better than expected.”

2006

The couple stood in the entrance hall of Josef’s home.

“We have official business.” Derek, the gloomy council head, who had flown straight from of his eastern Europe estate, darkened this space. But sunshine beamed from the lady beside him. Eliza glowed. She was a Freshie no more.

“We’re thankful you could see us,” she said, filling in the niceties.

“I wouldn’t want the big bad wolf to blow down my door,” Kostan said, eyeing Derek. He moved on to Eliza. She was gorgeous and glowing. “You’ve changed…for the better."

A possessive rumble came from the other man, as he wrapped his hand in hers, and looked around. “Where’s St. John?”

“He has his own place downtown.” Josef answered, as taken aback at the odd pair as when he’d first met them. Eliza was dainty with strawberry curls and freckles dusting her lovely skin, while her mate was a beast of a man, tall and built like a fighter, whose muscly physique had been carved in battle hundreds of years back. If Derek’s wolf-like golden glare didn’t unnerve you, his malevolent aura would surely do it. Josef couldn’t understand the attraction. “Today, Mick’s attending a graduation at Hearst…one of the journalism students. Did I ever tell you I founded that college? Got him a great seat with the deans, but no…Mick insisted on a row in the nosebleeds.”

Derek gave a disinterested snort.

Eliza spoke up, “We’ve been informed of a rather heartbreaking event. Lawrence Nicholson has died in a car crash. The vehicle caught fire.”

“I knew Larry,” said Josef, shaking his head. “Mick knew him better. How’s his wife?”

“She’s doing the best she can. The L.A.P.D. will give Lawrence an official funeral. He’s quite a decorated officer. The community will celebrate his life privately, of course. Here and abroad, Lawrence will be mourned. He was a decent man and an excellent leader.”

“To business,” said Derek, fixing his yellow eyes on Josef. “Nicholson’s death was no accident. The scene has the scent of explosives. I cannot trust those now vying for his position. The Du Valls are the loudest. They want Marceline to head L.A.” Derek frowned, his thoughts clear on that idea. “You moulded St. John as a fledgling when he was half wild. I assumed he’d drive you crazy and you’d end him. I was prepared to return for you. Instead, you guided him. Who knew there was a fatherly instinct in Josef Kostan?” 

“A compliment…I’m shocked,” gasped Josef. Chuckles the Chairman never said nice things. Mick _had_ made considerable progress in the past decades. It hadn’t been easy. He wasn’t roguish anymore and he didn’t want to die. But after long lessons on control, Mick had up and quit using Freshies. It was frustrating to say the least. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Derek.”

“D. is mellowing, isn’t he?” Eliza declared. She tucked her tiny frame into his and he put an arm around her. “Well—relatively. Love will do that. I’d been throwing myself into the arms of other vamps to make him jealous. D. finally clued in that night in your house. Mick’s near blunder made him realize he couldn’t live without me. My Romeo confessed his feelings, and I was turned and proposed to that same year.”

“Eliza,” Derek muttered, “I still dislike Kostan…and St. John.”

“Sure, sweetie.”

The man turned to protest. But as their eyes met, his expression softened, and instead of arguing, he brushed the top of her head tenderly. “You will lead Los Angeles, Kostan. The last one to ask is the one that I choose. Follow the orders of the council. This city is your responsibility until I say otherwise.”

“Damn it,” cursed Josef. 

“Tell no one of our visit,” ordered Derek.

*****

Mick blew out the breath he’d been holding as Sue/Eliza finished her tale. It was an okay day when the head of the council didn’t want to chop your head off. Not liked, but not loathed. He could live with that.

“We’ve never found Lawrence’s killer. But now, we’ve got bigger troubles,” Sue told him.

“More than you know. There’s no sign of Terrence at his place…and his pass to the morgue was swiped. They’d have to have known a fair bit to target him. Which tells us they’ve been watching,” informed Mick.

“Gasol caught on to their plan in time. We’ll do the clean up,” said Smithman.

“Spiking blood with silver doesn’t seem like the best idea for killing vampires,” Guillermo cut in. “I mean, one swallow of that junk and you’re gonna throw it up. They got Tony and now Virginia here,” he jabbed a thumb at the latest covered body lying on a gurney next to Gambino, “because they injected it.” He turned to his friend. “Hey Mick, don’t you inject sometimes?”

“The hunters got lucky. Most of us don’t do intravenous—and those who do, don’t do it often,” Mick replied. Those who injected were like him, trying to distance themselves from living like a vampire and taking blood like one. There weren’t many. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as ingesting. Tasting was part of his kind’s existence. They were sensory creatures. 

“They’ll move on to another city now. Their pattern suggests it,” said Sue.

Mick shook his head. “I don’t think so. In Amsterdam they got twenty-five vamps. In Budapest it was eighteen. They won’t be satisfied with two, maybe three in L.A.”

“In Hamburg, they got no one. And there’s been no sign of them since,” replied Smithman. He looked at his wife and cleared his throat. “ _Sue_ , let’s discuss the next few hours.”

“Yes.” She dismissed herself from the others with a nod. 

“How old is that guy?” Mick whispered to Guillermo. “He smells…like death itself.” The scent of decomposition encompassing the doctor was beyond potent.

“I thought it was kinda homey,” answered Gasol. 

The door rattled. Mick turned at the noise, only to see Ben Talbot yanking on the handle with Beth. When the detective came over and turned the lock, Ben burst in. 

“Beth,” Mick said, as their eyes met. He couldn’t ignore the reek coming off her. It was Talbot’s scent—much heavier than usual. He scanned Beth’s baggy attire. Was she wearing men’s clothing?

“She’s with me,” declared the attorney.

Mick glanced at Beth, confused.

“I can speak for myself. I told him I wanted to be here,” she said.

“Dr. Mosley phoned me rather pissed that he’s been locked out of his lab.” Ben looked angrily at Guillermo. “There’s been no legal order filed to keep him off this case—I checked. Why’re you locking him out while this _P.I_. is in? Mosley’s an expert. You should be using h—.” 

“I’m Dr. Jon Smithman, FBI forensics,” the ancient vamp interjected, advancing toward him. “This is my colleague Susan Doherty.” He got right in the attorney’s face. “We have our orders. This is a federal case now. Ms. Doherty will have the paperwork shortly. No need to worry.”

“Throw us something, Doc. You can’t keep this under wraps!” huffed the attorney, stepping back. “There’s bodies showing up in the city with blackened veins.” _And fangs apparently_ , according to Dr. Mosley _. I have to see that one._ “We need to know everything, so we can stop this!”

“I’m not sure who _you_ are, but I _am_ certain that this is out of your jurisdiction,” Smithman told him, flashing square teeth in a sneer. Malice oozed forth and spread from him like wings. Its icy tendrils stretched out, seeking the attorney.

Ben shivered and pulled his tie at the sudden chill in the room. He couldn’t help but avert his eyes from the homicidal look Smithman was giving him. All of the mass murderers he’d put away in the last decade had more welcoming demeanors. It was as if Smithman wanted to devour him. “Assistant District Attorney, Talbot. Give me a clue—at least,” he said, staring at the bodies, before stepping forward to grab the sheet over the closest one. 

Smithman blocked him immediately.

“I’m working on something that might be connected. Any bite marks on the neck or wrist?” said Talbot, glaring at Mick.

Smithman and Guillermo shot him killing stares.

Mick looked sharply at Beth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Five**

A call for blood throbbed from Smithman, seductive and cool. Death was here for Talbot—would Mick join in the dance?

The detective's senses sizzled at the invitation—not that much was needed. Fury blazed hellfire-hot, as he looked again at Beth in her wretched outfit. The reek of men's cologne coming off her spoke volumes. She'd lied about being at her girlfriend's. Had she slept with that idiot?

Hidden by a closed mouth, Mick's canines grew, while his hazel eyes lightened shades. He looked over at his morgue attendant pal. Stock still, Guillermo was fixed on the attorney, his stern face showed brightening irises of café au lait.

Mick advanced toward the human, slowly and methodically.

Ben scowled at him, puffing his chest. "You want a piece of me private dick?!"

Mick's lip curled. He tensed, ready to act on those words.

But Beth intervened. "Cool it!" She wedged herself between them, flattening a palm on each.

As her fingers touched Mick's thin shirt, their warmth jarred him from the dark edge over which he dangled. He shook his head to clear it. A still muddy logic told him she needed to get out of here. What was coming wasn't for her eyes. "Keep him here till I get back," he said to the others. "Beth you're with me." Mick jabbed a thumb at the exit.

She crossed her arms. "I'm staying."

He shook his head, linking an arm in the crook of her elbow. "You need to leave."

"She's a big girl," countered Talbot. "Beth can decide for herself!"

"I'll deal with him," Smithman told Mick.

"I'll help with that," added Guillermo with an edge.

 _What do I care if they rip him to shreds_? thought Mick, as a blood-tinted rage pumped through him once more. The pseudo-doctor closed the gap between himself and the lawyer. Mick's supernaturally keen eyes took in the ominous aura that expanded from the ancient, its tendrils twisting forth and coiling around the P.I. like a peckish python. Scalding need bloomed in his gut as if he'd not fed in weeks, and he licked his lips. Across the room, Guillermo looked likewise famished.

Smithman loomed over Ben, and as he shrunk back. "I'm not looking for trouble," Talbot said, bringing his hands up in a calming gesture. "I'm getting calls from wingnuts, telling me Dracula and his gang have invaded the city. Then Mosley says the bodies here have fangs." He snorted nervously. "Straight out of a tabloid, I know. Had to check it out for myself."

The doctor bore into him with eyes as black as the angriest thundercloud. Ben could have sworn they'd been brassy yellow minutes before. He shifted backward until he hit a lime-green wall with his rump, while his brain shouted an elemental message of self-preservation: _Run!_ With a great gulp, Talbot looked at the double doors...

Leaving the fattest vein on his neck exposed and twitching frantically.

Guillermo rubbed the back of his hand over his goatee and twisted on the spot.

"On second thought," rasped Mick, gravitating as well to the offering. "It's time, I showed _Ben_ a thing or two." He loosened his grip on Beth.

"Stop!" Sue shouted at him. "No pissing contests with the hu—Mr. Talbot," she said before hurling disapproval at her partner. "And you, stirring the pot with your tricks. Enough already!"

Smithman smirked. "A little push and he's ready to pounce. St. John hasn't been tamed at all."

Mick ignored him, locked on Talbot.

"Not so," replied Sue. "You've no right to pull his strings—or anyone's. Should I recite the code? Or just the parts you wrote. We're more than this. _You_ are more than this. More than anyone has ever given you credit for. The rules were made for a reason!" she blasted.

Smithman frowned before heaving a great sigh. "Indeed. These are better times," he said, bowing his head as he took a deep breath. "Rules make us better— _people_. But, between you and me, _Ms. Doherty_ …they are exceedingly dull at times." The gloomy haze in the room lifted an instant later. When he brought his eyes up, they were as golden as a long-lost coin. "We'll hear what this _man_ has to say…then determine the next course of action."

"That's fair," replied Sue.

As the killing energy dissipated, Mick gasped. A molten temper still blistered his insides, but his drives were his own. What had he been about to do? Rip into Talbot in front of Beth? He disliked that man intensely but that was insane.

He cast an eye at Guillermo. The attendant was dazed, as he wobbled towards some cupboards, putting his hands on a countertop for support.

"Take a break outside with your lady friend, Mick. We'll take over from here," said Sue.

He shook his head. If something happened to that boneheaded barrister, Beth would never speak to him again.

On cue, Beth squeezed his shoulder. "Tell them he's not a threat!"

Smithman pointed to the doors. "Out!" he roared.

* * *

"We can't just leave him!" yelled Beth as Mick dragged her into the hallway.

"No one can help Talbot. He's gotta tell the truth. Then, maybe he has a chance." The detective rubbed his temples. The aftereffects of the doctor's mind mashing had them pounding a brain bruising beat. "Smithman's not to be messed with."

"He's a vampire, isn't he?"

"Do I really need to answer?" Mick replied.

"I guess not," Beth muttered. "Bad move, Ben...going in all fired up." She looked through a window in the lab door with her lower lip jutting, turning back to Mick an instant later. "You looked strange in there—dangerous. What happened?"

"I have no idea. I'm not sure how Derek made me, or Guillermo, want to take a piece out of Talbot so badly. Gui is the most peace-minded soul I've ever met. And he was ready to take that guy out like he _was_ takeout." Mick's head felt heavy as if filled with ball bearings. His eyes roamed over Beth's clothes. They stung him all over again. "Why are you wearing that?"

Beth shifted uncomfortably.

"You didn't go to your girlfriend's."

"Not exactly," she mumbled.

"You reek of Talbot. Did you and he…"

"Not a chance!" answered Beth.

He listened to her heart's steady rhythm, relieved. _It's the truth_.

"I told everyone at the hospital my wrist was an accident, but they thought it was a cry for help. I couldn't stand the squinty stares. Ben got me out. But I had to agree to stay at his place—in his guestroom."

"I'll kill the bastard!"

"That's why I kept it a secret. He thought you'd attacked me. I told him he had it all wrong."

"And gave him a lecture on vampires?" Mick's nostrils flared, as he stifled the growl that was building.

"Never! I said it was an accident."

"Then why was Talbot going on about bite marks?"

"Ben thinks this was a bite." She held up her wrist, eliciting a guilty wince from Mick. "He knows about you. Some caller's been filling his head full of fangs. Only Ben doesn't believe a word. He thinks you like to play role play in bed."

Mick frowned. "Close enough."

"The caller's name was Gary or a Gus."

"Did you say, Gus? As in Angus?"

"Gus, yeah. Who's he?"

"A vampire hunter," explained Mick. He observed Talbot trying to squirm his way out of the lab. The trio interrogators were having none of it. "We're pretty sure he's responsible for the bodies. Silver poisonings. He got into Guillermo's blood supply."

"Oh my God! How'd he do that?"

"McCullough's very resourceful," a female voice chimed in.

Beth gaped at the newcomer. "Coraline?" she gasped.

Marceline smiled. "I get that often, but no. You must be Beth…Aunty Cora is correct. You _are_ a mousy little mortal."

Mick's eyes flashed, colourless and cross, as he gave her a sandy snarl.

She traipsed into the autopsy room unfazed in three-inch leopard print heels.

* * *

Mick and Beth sat together on a morgue bench for an eternal hour, while Eliza and Derek continued to drill Talbot.

In that time, they'd reached an understanding. She wouldn't talk about his lapse, and he wouldn't mention where she'd been. Jogging pants pressed up against Mick's jeans, he could feel Beth's living heat. He longed to have her warmth against his cold, bare skin and her flawlessly full lips against his. Whatever stood between them, he wanted her as strongly as ever.

But did she still want him? Visions of her with Talbot twisting around in linen sheets teased him. He couldn't believe he was about to push them together again.

"You have to keep Ben away from this," Mick said after a pregnant pause.

"I know," replied Beth, her focus on the attorney. She chewed her lip, as she watched the wolves circle. Poor Ben looked more like an appetizer than an attorney. Gone was his usual confident demeanor, replaced with fidgety feet and an expression of supreme discomfort. He glanced her way, and she gave him a supportive smile. Though strained, he did the same. "He's dying to get out of there, Mick," she said.

"I know. It's winding down. Don't worry. They're _not_ going to add him to the stiffs around here—for now. Lucky guy." With his excellent hearing, Mick had picked up most of the conversation. Smithman seemed satisfied the lawyer knew little and believed nothing. All calls were to be reported to Sue. Gus fit the FBI profile of their serial killer. No other details were given.

Standing off to the side was a toe-tapping Marceline. As the questioning ended, she shoved her own into the mix. Smithman roared at her to shut up. The vampiress frothed a fountain of French at him and stomped out.

Bursting into the hallway, she stared at Mick and said, "I need to speak to you. Alone."

His brows lowered skeptically, but he nodded before giving Beth's hand a squeeze and walking away with Marceline.

"Kathryn told me you left Terrence's," he declared halfway down the hall.

"I had to speak to my family," she replied.

"You were supposed to work with the Cleaners."

"I've had enough of those latex losers." Her cinnamon eyes rolled. "They're clueless at questioning suspects…or anything else for that matter. Last month, their incompetence nearly exposed us all. Surely you heard about it—the paparazzo found dead with his throat missing. It was all over the news."

"Some human reported it before they could get there."

"Is that Kathryn's _official_ excuse? Did she ever find the rogue?"

Mick didn't reply.

She smiled smugly. "I rest my case. I've no confidence in the Cleaners…or their boss. And I'm not the only one. Josef had better watch out. With the panic in the air, someone's bound to direct it at him in an ugly way."

Her words brought back memories of Larry Nicholson. It was easy to picture her plotting to kill him. He'd been a true friend and mentor. And the news of his murder had been a barbwire pill. "How did you know to find me here?"

"I knew you'd come when you heard about the pass card. Missed most of the drama, didn't I?"

"Two people are dead Marceline!"

"Yes, I peeked under the sheets. Injectors, defectives…shooting up their blood, pretending not to be vampires. Who really wants them among us?"

Mick didn't comment on his lifestyle choices, declaring instead, "Maybe you and your brothers."

"You think I would conspire against my own kind?" huffed Marceline. "Let's keep the real enemy in our sites, shall we?"

"You asked if we were on the same side."

"Because of the company you keep," the woman stated, glancing stonily at Beth. "That human girl is cozy with a district attorney! She's a liar. I heard what she told you before—and _still_ you lust!"

"You don't know anything about her!"

"Do I need to know anything other than her 'sleepover' fashion? Some girlfriend. You're being played. Why a vampire would let himself be a mortal's ragdoll is incomprehensible…but whatever. Let's move on. I know all about your buddy Kostan's dirty deals. Josef has secrets."

"Doesn't everybody?" Mick sighed wearily. "If you're going to spill secrets," he continued, "tell me what really happened to Larry."

"The ex-leader of Los Angeles?" She looked at him sideways. "Why would you bring him up, hmm? We need to have a heart to heart very soon…but there's a more pressing matter. You're extremely pale. When did you last feed?"

"None of your business," he spat.

"Do you drink blood from this morgue?"

Mick didn't answer.

"You do! And now you're cut off like a bunch of vamps, and by my guess, more than a little hungry." Her voice turned sweet. "I can fix that."

He shook his head. "I don't want your help."

"Pish-posh. You're no good to me distracted by your stomach. Maybe if I help, you'll start to trust me."

"Tell me your secrets first. I know you've got some."

"Of course," Marceline said, sweeping back towards the autopsy room, "but let's have a drink first. I'm hungry too." She looked down the hall and pouted. "Oh pooh! I was going to ask your Freshie for a favour…but she's leaving."

Mick turned, only to see Beth entering the east elevator—with Talbot.

" _Le Ciel et L'Enfer_ , have you ever been?"

Heaven and Hell, Mick translated. What the heck was she getting at?

* * *

One sexy grin and a sweep of long lashes had the bouncer lifting the rope at _Le Ciel et L'Enfer_. When he closed it off quickly after Marceline had passed, annoyance distorted her fine features.

"He's with me," she said shortly.

The giant with a wrestler's physique nodded sheepishly and raised the barrier once more to let Mick through.

Marceline wrapped an arm around the PI's shoulders. Gentlemanly, he let her. And together they followed a magnetic EDM hook into the lobby.

The detective watched curiously as the lady breezed past the cashiers, ignoring the cover charge. Security didn't stop her. Instead, the beefy black suits tilted their midnight fedoras, one parting a sea of patrons and another opening the wrought iron gates to the dance hall.

Following Marceline into the action, Mick took in _Le_ _Ciel et L'Enfer_. The walls looked like a crime scene, spidery splatters of crimson adorning each surface. Gyrating humans packed a diamond-shaped floor. Bordering them, more bodies sprawled on charcoal leather couches, intertwined and writhing. Above on a platform, a buxom brunette in a barely-there, violet dress shook her tasselled ass, sliding her tongue across her silver-blue lips at Mick.

He ignored her, concentrating on the DJ instead. His tracks were a potent drug. They shook the party-goers into a fizz. Half-dressed twenty-somethings rubbed against each other furiously to the accelerating bass.

The P.I. couldn't stop long enough to be similarly ensnared. Marceline was on a mission. She pulled him through the centre of the dance floor with purposeful strides, slicing a determined path.

In the furthermost corner of the club, she found what she was looking for. "I knew you'd be here," she said to a ginger-haired man flopped over a dark divan. He looked as if he'd been dumpster diving with his more than ratty jeans and crumpled navy dress shirt.

"Marceline, _tu es de retours_ (You're back)! Luck is with me tonight, sis. I've got money to burn. And so, I popped by." He eyed Mick curiously. " _Mais qui est-ce (Who is this)?_ _"_ he asked.

 _"_ _Un membre de la famille_ (A family member _),"_ she said.

" _Vampire. Oui_ , _je peux le sentir_ (Yes, I can smell him _),"_ slurred the man, half drunk.

 _"_ _Il est un Du Vall_ (He's a Du Vall), _"_ explained Marceline _. "Tante Coraline est sa femme et son maître_ (Aunt Coraline is his wife and his sire)."

The man seethed. "St. John? _Il_ _ne fera jamais partie de la famille (He will never be part of the family)."_

"Oh, _Grégoire_ ," cried Marceline, perturbed, "don't be as close-minded as Grand-père. Coraline adores him."

"Who gives a shit about Aunt Cora!" declared the man, slamming his fist on the glass table in front of him. "Only you. She's made her bed and now she's chained to it. If you ask me, it's about time after ripping up the rulebook for decades. And it all started with this bloody musician!"

Marceline opened her mouth to respond.

Mick rumbled low before she could.

"Ignore my brother. He's an idiot," Marceline told him, eyes narrowing coolly on Grégoire. "I didn't think Sylvain had you in his pocket so snuggly. It's not Mick's fault he was turned."

"No, it was Coraline's stupidity. He burned her for it." The redhead shot to his feet, snarling. "You're an ungrateful mistake, St. John! What kind of man tries to kill his wife! If I had my way, you'd be dead. I certainly wouldn't have cut any deals with his dickhead friend, Josef Kostan, either! Grandfather must've been out of his mind!"

Mick's eyes bleached.

The other vamp gave a fanged hiss.

"How's about I put my fist through those!" barked Mick, flexing his fingers.

Grégoire gave a low rumble, unimpressed.

"Marceline," said Mick, "Tell me about this deal with Josef. Or I'll go dentist on your brother, I swear!"

"He's not worth the effort," said the woman, grabbing her brother's glass and taking a sip. "I promised I'd tell you and I will. But first I want a _real_ drink." She showed her own long teeth and frost-coloured irises to her sibling. "I know we disagree about Aunty. But you're in my club, getting drunk on my booze—show Mick some hospitality, or I'll have you booted."

Grégoire snarled and stalked off.

Marceline took his place on the couch with a smile. "That was a nice introduction to the family, don't you think?" she said, patting the place beside her. "Sit down."

"All this is yours?" asked Mick, trying to calm himself as he took a seat.

"Half. My older brother Simon is my business partner. He owns half of my other club in Paris as well. Father gave us all money to make our way in the world. Grég decided to be a gambler instead of a businessman. He's a penniless pain, but he's blood."

Marceline caught the attention of a honey-haired waiter with a babyface in an ebony suit and bowtie. He scurried over, grinning widely, his sizeable dimples on full display. " _Mademoiselle_ _Du Vall, c'est un plaisir! P_ _uis-je vous aider_? (Miss Du Vall, it's a pleasure! Can I help you)?"

 _"_ _Oui, Stéfan. Minette, travaille-t-elle ce soir_ (Yes, Stéfan. Is Minette working tonight)? _"_

" _Bien sûr_ (Of course). _"_

Marceline smiled. "Send her to the backroom. You come as well."

* * *

"You again…ugh. I told Zahra if a caller was bloodsucking or boring, take a message. That should've covered you," droned Josef, leaning back in his office chair with a scowl as he held his phone to his ear.

"I'm not amused," yipped Sylvain Du Vall on the line. "Why haven't you sent word of the poisonings? My granddaughter tells me there's been nothing."

"Well," Josef paused, thoughtful, "my Jacuzzi was calling—not to mention Valentina, Amber and…"

"For pities sakes, Kostan!"

"Joking, Sylvie. Three hundred years old and still no personality. I'm on it. Stop checking up like you're my sire." The truth was Logan Griffen hadn't answered his cell all night. Josef was irate and about to make a house call.

"You're in over your head…a jokester, someone who doesn't have a clue how to stop a hunter! Derek will slaughter you when this blows up in your face!"

"I doubt it," Josef replied. "We're pretty tight. In fact, I was thinking of asking for an endorsement when this is over. 'Kostan for council'—sounds nice, doesn't it?"

The call cutting off was his answer.

* * *

The music was as clear in the VIP lounge as in the dance hall. It swirled loudly out of the speakers in the ceiling. The space was a step up from the rest with velvety plum cushioned, sandalwood couches, and damask wallpaper of glittering silver and forest green. Glass topped tables with marble etched legs held bottles of various scotch whiskies and Dom Perignon chilling in ice buckets.

"All I want is the truth," Mick said tiredly. "I'm not hungry."

"You're lying."

The P.I. balled his fists. She was right, but he was dying for answers even worse. "I don't make a habit of feeding on humans."

"Sure. I saw Beth's wrist. That's more than a love nip by the bandage."

Mick's eyes darted to the floor. "It won't happen again."

"A virtuous vamp. Are you joking?" said Marceline with a chuckle. "Self-loathing is so unattractive. Your choices are limited. My offer is free. You can beg or you can hunt instead. Have you ever gone after unwilling prey? It's a messy affair, but quite satisfying. Most vamps these days have been raised on the bottle. Imagining them on the hunt is frightening. The Cleaners wouldn't be able to keep up. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

At the mention of hunting, Mick's stomach gurgled. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of something else.

"It's okay to be yourself," she told him, noticing the struggle. "I won't tell a soul. I've brought a few favourites from Europe. Have a little of Minette." The lady sat down cross-legged and gestured for him to do the same. When he was settled across from her, she poured a glass of scotch in a tumbler and pushed it his way. He took a grateful swig.

Not long after, two humans came into the room. Stéfan…and Minette.

The female was striking—a sleek-lined beauty in a petal-pink, spaghetti-strapped sheath. Blue-black hair spilled down her shoulders. Her feline, yellowish-green eyes were adventurously lit. She smelled of apricots and almonds…with undertones of A positive.

It was Mick's own blood type and his natural favourite…

He wanted to taste her so badly.

* * *

1959

Mick wanted a Freshie badly. But Josef had said no all day and yesterday too…

Now, he was crawling up the walls of an upper bedroom, a prisoner in Kostan's "fun" shack. And the vampire inside refused to stay bottled. Noises were augmented by super-hearing that wouldn't shut off. The clock was a discharging revolver while women's giggles sliced his eardrums like cleavers. Guards clomped calamitously, as sports cars screamed in and out of the U-shaped driveway. His head was going to crack open and leak over the Persian rugs.

He'd learned how to feed properly with practice. Take a little from many, be gentle and respect the donors. Josef had pushed him hard to dampen his urges. And when he'd slipped, Kostan had been there correcting him roughly.

Mick had sunken his teeth into the macho millionaire a few times in the process.

It hadn't always been an accident.

Mick's life was tediously regimented. The only fun came from sparring with Larry Nicholson. In addition to being the deputy chief of the Los Angeles police department, the city's head vampire was a boxer and martial artist. He began training Mick as a favour, taking him off Josef's hands for a couple of hours each week.

The newbie immersed himself in the lessons. So much so that Larry raved about his talent for fighting. It was nice to be complimented, for Nicholson was a man with pull, and a ticket to freedom if he played his cards right.

Currently alone in his room, Mick yearned for blood. According to Josef, this fast was to press a point on control. Desperately, Mick wanted to press two points into any available skin. Even something bottled would be passable. But no luck. The staff had shoed him out of the cellar, and the guards had blocked him from hunting.

"It's time. You ready?" said Josef, appearing in the doorframe.

He may as well have hollered through a blowhorn, for it hit Mick's ears like a wrecking ball, as did the deafening steps of this dummy coming down the hall. Mick groaned at the migraine throbbing along his brow as his mind screamed at him to feed. "For what? Do I get to eat? Cause I'm pretty sure the bigwig that handcuffed me to this place didn't say I should wither away from starvation. I haven't had someone all day."

"I know. If you do what you're told, you might." Josef winked at him.

"You're taking far too much enjoyment out of this. Wasn't my 'training' supposed to be a punishment?" asked Mick.

"I am. Who knew? Let's see if you've mastered the lessons I've taught. Julie's waiting in the ballroom. You're going to partner up for a foxtrot. If you so much as scratch her, you'll regret it. Control yourself and you can have something soon. Here's a suit. Try to look less like a shmuck."

Kostan tossed him a steel gray jacket and pants then straightened his own navy pin-striped sleeves. "Ten minutes till dancing time." He tapped his watch and disappeared.

"This is stupid," Mick mumbled.

"A tango then…much closer," replied Kostan wickedly from down the hall.

Snarling, Mick launched the garments in a waste bin.

Something close by caught his eye.

Two feet away, white lace flapped and flowed. The window she'd used yawned wide. A gust from it tangled lengths of her long, wavy hair. To smiling lips went a bloody nailed finger. "Shh," whispered Coraline.

"I waited two…years! _Two years_!" Mick bellowed. He'd never be hushed again. When she hadn't come, his doubts about her had hollowed him out. In time, he realized he'd been toyed with and tossed.

"I'm here," she soothed, coming up beside him at the foot of the four-post bed.

Mick made a sour face. "You reek of sex."

"I have needs. I get my blood the best way I can…but my heart belongs to you. Vampires live long lives. A few years are nothing between us."

"I loved you, more than anything. When you gave me this," Mick showed his lethal canines, "I was frantic to go back, but I _still_ loved you." _Not the same as before,_ his mind argued. "How could you leave me here with _him_?"

"Derek would have killed me! I was scared. Forgive me, my love. I missed you madly. So here I am, breaking all the rules." She gave him a sweeping perusal. "You've changed into a confident predator. Your strength makes me want you more."

"I can survive on my own," grumbled Mick, "I don't need you."

The Frenchwoman smiled with all of her perfect white teeth. "You'll always need me. We're connected." She bent down and brushed his cheek with glossy scarlet lips then travelled to his mouth.

Mick softened at the familiarity.

"Ugh," groaned a voice from behind, "I just fed." Josef glowered at Coraline from the doorway. "The guards said there was a snake in the garden. It's slithered in here I see."

"I'm taking my husband home," she told him.

He shook his head. "Mick's not yours anymore."

"You're wrong!" hissed Coraline. "He loves me. And we won't be separated any longer. You've taught him how to survive. Now let him go." She looked at Mick. "He doesn't want you here. He never did. But _I_ want you with my whole heart."

Kostan made gagging noises. "Yeah right. St. John, cut the old ball and chain, or-shall I say- the old chain to your balls. Haven't I taught you that singleness is next to godliness?"

"Spoken like a man who has never loved," retorted Coraline.

"Your game is always the same."

She nuzzled her husband as he rose off the bed. "You're so pale. You must be hungry." Dainty fingers raked Mick's mahogany curls. "Remember how I fed you? I know you enjoyed it. I did too." A long fingernail bit into her collarbone. "Let me satisfy you."

Glistening, poppy-red drops seeped out and trickled down, catching along the folds of her ivory dress. Mick growled at the waste. His irises lost their colour, as his fangs grew. He licked his lips, need squeezing his chest tightly.

Coraline's wound would close in seconds.

Unless he pressed himself up to it and…

He shook his head. "I-I don't want this!" sputtered Mick, regaining himself.

A sleek beauty and murderess rolled into one, his wife was a venomous viper. To let Coraline enfold him would be his death. He'd just begun to find "the old Mick" again. She'd suck the remnants of his soul out for good.

"You do. I can feel it. We need each other." Coraline batted her lashes, pleading with deep brown eyes. "Come home to me." She pulled at the strap of her dress, desire plain on her lovely face.

"Get out!" yelled Mick, before his willpower waned.

Coraline was hot as sin…

And he shook with the effort not to throw himself in the fire.

She was gone before he could be consumed.

Josef smiled. "I'm proud of you. You've earned a pretty snack," he said, coming up and clapping the fledgling on the back. "That took control."

Mick sighed. He never thought he'd ever care for Kostan and his wise-cracking ways. But the praise did feel good on an aching heart.

* * *

At the succulent scent of the Freshie Minette, Mick shrugged off the weight of his conscience, reared his head back, displaying needle-point teeth…and bit down.

She was divine as promised.

Mick was grateful….and greedy.

When his cell went off, he let it pick up.

* * *

After Mick had finished at _le Ciel,_ he'd noticed his phone blinking madly with multiple messages from the same number. Currently, he took the stairs two at a time down to Logan Griffen's basement pad with Marceline lagging behind. "Okay we're here," he said, spying Josef. "What's the emergency?"

"Can't you see?!" Kostan put his hands up. "This place has been trashed. Somebody took our nerd!" He pointed to broken bottles, scattered papers, strewn video games, and an overturned chair.

"That's why you had us race over? Obviously, you've never been to Logan's before. Looks like this all the time."

"Holy Hell," swore Josef.

"Exactly," said Mick, scanning the room. His eyes narrowed. "What's that?" he pointed to a messy computer desk.

"A spilled bag of morgue blood, spoiled by the smell," Marceline offered, coming up on his right. "Looks like Griffen tasted the silver and went hunting."

"I need my emails sent yesterday!" seethed Josef. "Get his ass back here!"

"Bagged bag?" repeated Mick. He approached the it and swiped the residue with a finger. The liquid was warm and sickening. "It's tainted alright. But why would Logan have blood from Guillermo? He almost never leaves his basement. I'm pretty sure he gets deliveries."

"I remember him blabbering on about LBT," said Josef.

Mick inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Images of Logan being staked, his blue eyes bulging, flashed in the detective's mind. A red-haired man peered over his immobile form, his back turned from view. "The bag's been planted. Take a sniff."

"I can smell it already. Disgusting…I'm not breathing it in deeply," whined Kostan.

"Josef," growled Mick, "take a whiff—it's important. Tell me what you see."

With a pained face, Josef took in the scent. "I knew it! The kid was taken," he said a second later. "Look for an orange flash drive. It's got my addresses!" He began sifting through remotes, cords, wires, and various electronics only to be interrupted by his cell. "Yeah," he grouched, placing it to his ear. There was a minute of audible buzzing before he yelled, "Who told them that!" He listened for a beat again, then said, "Back it up, Kate. I don't understand."

Kostan began to pace. "I didn't send that! Which hospital?" The caller went off again. "Tell them all I said to stay put. _Make_ them believe you! I am NOT saving my ass!" Josef gnashed his now lengthy teeth and hung up. "It's impossible to get good help," he ground out through a clenched jaw.

He kicked a life-sized cardboard Spock to the floor in frustration. "They've got Logan's flash drive! Someone sent a fake email about the silver! Now there's vampires storming down to some old Eastside hospital to hear from 'me' about emergency blood shipments. They think I'll be there with a plan and they're marching down there as we speak!"

"Which one?" asked Mick.

"St. Agnes."

"Never heard of it," stated Marceline.

Josef's eyes paled as he shouted, "Go Google it then—far away from here!"

"St. Agnes was a mental hospital. It closed in the forties," said Mick. At two pairs of questioning eyes, he shrugged. "My aunt was a psych nurse. We're late to the game again. How did McCullough know to go for Terrance _and_ Logan? This hunter has more than a few moles, Josef. And one of them is nesting in your house."

"The whole thing smells of a different kind of rat. Everyone's panicking about McCullough. But he's never attacked the same city twice." Josef stared at the lady in the room. "It's a good time to make your move isn't it, Celine? You were there when Logan came by. You've always wanted my job. But you needed the community's support. Now you'll have it. They're pissed about the poisonings."

"That's absurd!" Marceline shot back. "I don't want to be the leader of Los Angeles!"

"You yelled the loudest when I got the job!"

"Grand-père told me to. But I've changed my mind since then. I don't agree with the way he solves his problems!"

"Was Larry a _problem_?!" roared Josef.

"I was speaking of _Tante_ Coraline! Why's everyone so hung up on Nicholson?!"

"I don't believe you! Kate told me you took off on her. Were you with your brother? The ugly one with the red hair? He'll do anything for cash, booze or both. Bet it was old Grég who took Logan, planted the blood, and stole my stuff!"

"You're crazy!"

"Marceline," interrupted Mick, "where exactly did you go after Terrence's?" He'd seen Grégoire drinking up a storm at her club. _Could it have been payment_?

"I phoned grand-père from _le Ciel_."

"You said yourself you don't agree with him. Why would you talk to that windbag? He told you about the silver, didn't he," Kostan clenched his fists in rage, "then coached you on the best way to set me up!"

"Josef, this is insane," Mick said. "McCullough sent the email. He's corralling us into a corner—first stirring things up with silver, then playing us while we're panicked. Who the hell knows how he did it? He could have a whole army of players. Look at your humans. How well do you know your Freshies or your guards? Any new hirings?"

"Valentina was hired in February."

"Talk to anyone that comes to mind," Mick advised. "We have to stop this." He looked over at Marceline. "All of us."

"Don't trust her for a second! She's a Du Vall!" argued Josef.

Mick ignored him. "Get anyone you can to that site to warn those vamps. Marceline and I are going there ASAP."

"Is that what you want, Celine? I'll look worse than I do now, sending in the troops for a false alarm, avoiding it myself. I have to go!" said Kostan.

"I didn't set you up!" Marceline crossed her arms, fuming.

"Get us some backup, Josef. If you must go, wait for our call. It sounds like a torch-bearing mob will be there—of vampires."

Josef snarled loudly and stomped up the stairs. He shut the door behind him so harshly, Logan's GI Joes nosedived inside a glass trophy case.

"I'm on your side, Mick. And more honest than _him,_ I assure," declared Marceline.

"I trust Josef with my life."

"Don't," said Marceline.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Mick asked irritably.

"Who do you think gave Coraline to Lance?"

He looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Josef told him Coraline was here. It was part of a deal between Kostan and Grand-père. Josef's been his errand boy for decades."


End file.
